


Seeing The Stars

by nessbess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bring tissues, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 63,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessbess/pseuds/nessbess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the night is darkest, it is then that the stars shine the brightest. You just have to learn how to see them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shades of Despair

**Author's Note:**

> In hindsight, I should probably mention that this also includes elements of depression, PTSD, alcohol dependence (alluded to, with no serious detrimental effects), and mentioned off-screen mental health issues.
> 
> Secondary ships include Ron/Hermione, Past Draco/Blaise, Brief Blaise/Harry, and the downward spiral of Harry/Ginny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited and reposted from fanfiction.net, where I deleted it along with my other fics.

Harry glumly looked up at the dark stone walls of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. How he hated it here, this dreary building nestled into the shadows of Muggle London, magnificent and immovable in all of its dark glory. The draped windows seemed to stare down at him with barely contained revulsion. How he hated it here. Taking a deep breath, Harry picked up his trunk and entered the unwelcoming house.

A cloud of dust rose from the heavy carpet, forming a familiar shape. Albus Dumbledore lifted his arms and reached for Harry, a murderous expression upon his grubby features.

"It was not I who killed you, Albus," Harry's voice was thick with sorrow. "Though in essence, it was."

As the deceased Hogwarts Headmaster exploded once more into a cloud of dirt and grime, Harry continued into the dusky old house. He frowned at the troll-leg umbrella stand that Tonks had tripped over so many times during his previous stays at Grimmauld Place. Now, there was no one to trip over it. Tonks was gone, just like Dumbledore. Just like Sirius, Remus, Harry's parents, Mad-Eye, and Fred. Just like Snape. They had all left him. Harry had killed them all. They had all died for him.

Their laughter had once filled these dark halls; halls that now hosted a deadly silence filled only with shadows of memories. They were everywhere – Tonks tripped over the umbrella stand, blushing furiously to match her bubblegum pink hair before giving herself a pig-snout and grinning like a female Dudley. Sirius and Remus embraced, sharing the joy of their resurrected friendship together, even as they mourned the loss of their friends. Mad-Eye scowled darkly, warning the Order to maintain 'Constant Vigilance' before showing Harry an old picture of his parents. Fred laughed merrily as he Apparated onto the foot of Harry's bed, causing Harry to curse in fright. Snape sneered, knowing that no one trusted him, but risking his life daily to save them all. And Dumbledore – Dumbledore, who had been there for him all those years, caring for him, loving him, doing his best to protect him from what he had to do.

They were all gone, but they were everywhere.

Harry sank onto the grimy couch, resting his head in his hands. He had tried staying with the Weasleys and Hermione at the Burrow, but they didn't understand. None of them understood. Not Hermione, with her ever keen perception. Not Ron, his rock, always doing his best to be understanding and loyally at his side. Not Molly or Arthur, who tried so hard to be the parents that he had never had. Not Ginny, who had loved him so deeply. Not even George, only half a person without his twin.

They were all trying so hard, but none of them could understand Harry's anguish, rooted as deeply as an oak tree in a desert. They had all lost loved ones, but none of them had killed the people that they loved. None of them had watched their friends and loved ones die trying to save them, knowing that if he had never lived, they might still be alive.

Harry wished for the thousandth time that he had never been born at all. Or, better yet, he had been born a normal kid, with zero expectations and responsibilities, able to grow up laughing and carefree with two parents who loved him and each other, in a world where a man named Tom Riddle had never existed. Harry could fantasize all day, but nothing would change. His parents were still dead. His friends were still dead. And he was still the damnable Boy Who Lived, Boy Who Lived Again, the Chosen One, and the Savior. He was still an idol set on a golden pedestal before the world, alternately playing the broken little boy and the majestic, intimidating war hero as the public saw fit.

There was a tap on the window, and Harry snidely wondered which the barn owl would bash in first – its brains, or the window. The sharp crackle of flexing glass announced that it would probably be the latter. With a heavy sigh, Harry heaved himself to his feet and hastened to allow the bird entry.

He didn't bother to read the letter as he tossed it into the fire. He knew that it could only be one of four things – an attempt to slip the famous Harry Potter a love potion, adoring fan mail, a request for an interview, or a plea for Harry to solve someone's problems, be it a missing child or trouble in the kitchen. Everyone wanted the Savior's help, the Savior's approval, and the Savior's love. Harry had canceled his subscription to the Prophet because he was sick of reading articles about himself and the letters that fans sent to the newspaper. Three months after Voldemort's death, one would think that the public would calm down. But they were still as rabid as ever, sending Harry at least five letters a day.

The fire crackled around the unopened letter as Harry rested his head back in his hands.

"Harry?" Hermione's slightly panicked voice called. "Are you there?"

He briefly debated ignoring his friend, but was filled with guilt at the notion. Everyone at the Burrow would be terrified – he hadn't bothered to say any goodbyes before he packed up and left last night.

"Yeah, I'm here, Herm," he crouched before the fireplace. Hermione's soft features immediately melted into relief.

"Oh, praise Merlin. Everyone has been worried sick. Are you alright, Harry?"

"Fine," Harry lied. "I just need some time. I'm sorry that I panicked everyone."

A thin, concerned line again formed between Hermione's dark eyes. "That's alright, Harry, we understand. Are you sure that you're okay?"

 _No. Of course I'm not. If you really understand, you would know that._  "'Course, Herm," Harry smiled lightly.

Hermione tentatively smiled back before the fire returned to normal and Harry was once again alone.

He poured himself a drink, grimacing as the bitter, amber liquid teased down his throat. As he was settling back onto the couch, there came another tap at the window. Harry scowled. Another barn owl. As he made to throw the letter into the fire, a large, decorative letter 'H' caught his eye. Harry knew that coat of arms well. His curiosity getting the better of him, Harry slit the envelope open and drew out a crisp sheet of folded parchment.

" _Dear Mr. Potter, Due to extenuating circumstances of the previous year, many Hogwarts students were unable to complete their seventh school_ _year."_ Harry snorted. 'Extenuating circumstances'? He continued to read: _"Hogwarts staff has acknowledged this regret, and has agreed to allow those pupils to return to the school as eighth year students. Please see the attached list of recommended course books. We hope to see you in the fall. Deputy Headmaster, Filius Flitwick._ "

Harry set aside the letter, a look of astonishment upon his features. He had never thought that he would be going back to Hogwarts again, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to.

If he returned, which would he see; the castle that had been his home for six years or the place that had claimed the lives of his friends and countless others?

Harry sighed. He supposed that there was only one way to find out. He unfolded the supply list.

After quickly scanning through the book list, Harry determined that the course books would be easy enough to procure, although he didn't fancy going to Diagon Alley to retrieve them all. Perhaps he could just send an owl order –

But the thought ended there. He felt the familiar ache reopen as he thought of the loss of Hedwig. It was rather difficult to owl order when your owl was deceased, after all. If he had stayed at the Burrow, he could have borrowed Pig from Ron, but he had left. The only available owl post offices that he knew of were in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Harry figured that it would be pointless to go to Diagon Alley to owl post books from the same Alley. He didn't even bother to entertain the idea of Hogsmeade – it was simply too far.

That left only one option open. In the morning, Harry would Apparate to Diagon Alley.

At that moment, the fireplace crackled, announcing a Floo call.

"Merlin's beard!" Harry muttered in frustration. "Can't a man get a moment's peace around here?" He crouched irritably before the fireplace as Ron's freckled face spun into view.

"Harry, mate," Ron beamed. "Did you get your Hogwarts letter?" He continued without waiting for a response. "Brilliant, isn't it, mate, going back to Hogwarts? Dad says that they've fixed it all up since You-Know-Who's giants destroyed it. It'll be just like old times!

"Listen, mate," he went on, not pausing to take a breath, "Me and Ginny and Herm are heading up to Diagon Alley tomorrow morning – it's weird, isn't it? Ginny'll be in the same year as us! – And we want you to come with us. You'll come, yeah?"

Harry blinked distractedly. Ginny was going to be in the same year as them. She was going to be constantly hanging onto him, expecting him to give her more than he was willing to. And Ron would be furious if he broke her heart.

"Yeah, sure," Harry agreed sullenly.

Ron beamed at him. "Excellent! We'll see you tomorrow, mate!" The fire fizzled and died, and Harry slowly sank back onto the couch.

Groaning, he placed his head in his hands, rubbing his fingertips across the shiny skin that pulled tightly across his scar. Although the scar hadn't caused him any pain since Voldemort's death, the gesture had long ago become a nervous habit.

Harry curled into a tight ball on the couch. Tomorrow, he would have to face Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. Tomorrow, he would have to face everyone who wanted to gawk at, receive and autograph from, speak to, or touch the Savior. But tonight, he was Harry – alone and broken in the house that had trapped his godfather. The house that held so many memories and shades of despair. The house that he hated. He was alone, with nothing but a scarce house elf and a host of moody portraits for company.

Alone and broken, Harry Potter curled up on the couch in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and fell asleep, dreading the morning.


	2. Déjà Vu

When he awoke, Harry blinked blearily at the sunlight that filtered through the dusty windows. He stretched and rolled his head to settle the aches of sleeping on the small, hard couch all night.

Glaring at the large grandfather clock, Harry heaved a heavy sigh. He would be expected at the Burrow shortly. With a dry laugh at the irony of him not lasting even a day at Grimmauld Place before the Weasleys pulled him back into their fold, Harry entered the kitchen to be greeted by the smell of Kreacher's cooking.

"Breakfast, Master?" the elf droned in his scratchy voice, bowing low. His flowery apron bounced as he hurried back to the stove.

"Yeah… thanks," Harry shrugged indifferently. He sat at the kitchen table and Kreacher threw a plate of sausages before him. After choking down the links, Harry went to the grimy fireplace where Sirius had often talked through to him while Harry had been at Hogwarts.

Harry took a handful of Floo powder from the pot on the mantle and sat staring at the fireplace. He took a deep breath. This was it; the point of no return. If he went forwards now, he would be going to Diagon Alley with Hermione and the Weasleys. If he stayed behind, he would not get his school supplies and not return to Hogwarts.

Harry looked at the powder trickling through his fingers to dust over the hearth. He couldn't remember a single time before when he hadn't been both willing and eager to go to the Burrow. Rubbing his forehead with his free hand, Harry sighed and tossed the powder into the fireplace.

"The Burrow," he called clearly as he stepped into the emerald flames.

The instant Harry tumbled out of the fireplace he was assaulted by a vivid mass of ginger hair.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny cried, wrapping her arms around his neck. "We've all been so worried. It's wonderful that you've come back and will be going to Diagon Alley with us!" Harry forced a smile at her as Ron and Hermione beamed at him over her shoulder. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry gathered a second handful of Floo powder and traveled with the Weasleys and Hermione to Diagon Alley.

The Leaky Cauldron instantly felt silent as Harry arrived in the fireplace. All heads swiveled towards him before excited murmuring broke through the assembled crowd. As the pub's patrons swarmed towards him, Harry felt a strong sense of Déjà vu. It was just like the first time he had come to Diagon Alley with Hagrid – the pub customers were just as eager, if not more so, to shake his hand, touch him, offer their congratulations as they had been when he was eleven years old.

The crowd pressed towards him, reaching for him, stroking his hair. They all cried for him to kiss their babies, to bless them, to sign their hats or arms or anything available. Harry stared around in panic for an escape, but he didn't see any way out of the mob of flailing arms and pressing bodies.

"Excuse me, Potter, could you please sign my arse?" a familiar voice drawled lazily. Harry's head snapped up to see Draco Malfoy sprawled across the bar, his steel eyes dancing in amusement.

"Come on, Harry," Ginny slipped her hand into his, alternately beaming at him and scowling at Malfoy as she pulled him from the pub into Diagon Alley. "Let's shop for our books now; you can sign autographs later, yeah?"

Even though Harry knew that she was only teasing, he felt a surge of anger at Ginny's words. Didn't anyone know that he ought to be punished, not idolized? He had caused so many deaths, yet everyone was still treating him like a hero. He followed numbly as Ginny pulled him into Flourish and Blotts. Ron and Hermione trailed faithfully behind him, waving casually and calling greetings to people they recognized.

Flourish and Blotts was packed with wizards and witches shopping for their school books. Again as Harry entered, the entire shop fell silent. He kept his head down, staring at his book list and began to walk towards the shelves. As he was retrieving his first required book, the whispers broke out again.

"Harry Potter! That's Harry Potter!"

"Go talk to him!"

"You go talk to him!"

"I'm getting his autograph…"

As a pretty, dark-haired witch in a Hufflepuff robe approached him, offering a slip of parchment with a sheepish grin, Harry finally exploded.

"I'm not here to give any damned autographs!" He shouted to the surprised book shop. "I'm here only to buy my books and leave, so everybody just stay out of my blasted way and let me be!" Over the head of the disappointed Hufflepuff, Harry caught sight of Hermione staring at him in disapproval. He recalled the conversation she had had with him at the beginning of the summer.

_"The people need hope, Harry. You can give that to them. They need a hero, and they've long since stopped trusting the Ministry. Who better to be their hero than you? I think you should play the part – sign autographs, attend parties, answer fan mail, everything. Don't turn them away. They need you."_

Harry scowled at the memory and turned back to his book list, irritably shoving past the people who tried to get in his way, ignoring the tittering of the now wary crowd. Perhaps Hermione was right. Perhaps the people needed a hero. But that hero sure as hell wasn't him.

When Harry pulled his required books off of the shelves, he felt another stab of irritation as Ginny took them from him.

"I'll carry them," she said with a coy wink, "Anything for you, Harry." Harry glowered after her with mounting frustration as she merrily flounced away, pushing through the crowd to pay for them.

"Break an arm, Potter?" the familiar voice drawled again. Harry whirled to face the pale Slytherin. "I never took you for one to employ the servants, even if they are just Weasleys."

Harry glared into Draco Malfoy's steel gray eyes. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he snapped. Instantly, Hermione and Ron were behind him, backing him up.

Draco quirked an amused eyebrow at the pair. "You have body guards, too?" he smirked. "Really moving up in the world, aren't you?"

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron snapped from Harry's side. Draco's light, teasing smirk mutated into a fill blown sneer as he glared at Ron.

"I was merely paying my dues to the Hero, Weasel. Let's not be rude."

"Where's Mummy?" Ron countered snidely, otherwise ignoring the blonde's comment. Waves of loathing rolled off of him towards the Slytherin, and Harry was surprised that Draco didn't flinch back at the strength of them. "Finally decide that you're a big enough boy to go shopping without holding her ugly hand?"

Draco blanched. "Don't you dare talk about my mother, Weasley," he snarled, drawing his wand.

As Ron mimicked his movements, Hermione stepped between them. "Not here," she said quickly. Ron glared at her, but stowed his wand back into his jeans.

Draco smirked at Ron. "Still whipped, I see," he drawled in amusement. Turning to Harry, he said "See you around, Highness" with a mocking bow before he spun on his heels and marched out of the shop.

"What was that about?" Ginny asked as she walked up with their newly purchased books.

"Malfoy," Ron replied simply. "Does he need any other explanation but the name?"

That night, as Harry Flooed back to Grimmauld Place, he realized that Draco was the one person who still treated him like Potter, the scrawny git, and not like Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World. Malfoy's treatment of him was the one constant, the one thing in his life that had not changed over the last year.

But still… Harry recalled the anguish in Malfoy's icy gaze when the conversation turned to his mother. What had happened to her? There was something there, he knew it. He just didn't know what.

Harry poured himself a drink and stared into the amber firewhiskey. Perhaps everyone had changed since the last year. He knew for certain that he had. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had all changed, too. They had all aged over the last few months. Who was to say that Malfoy hadn't changed, too?

Harry sighed and collapsed onto the worn couch, rubbing his scar with his left hand. Before that day, the last time Harry had seen the snarky blonde had been at the Malfoy trial, when Harry had spoken on behalf of Draco and Narcissa. Both the Malfoys had saved Harry's life during the war, and he supposed he felt indebted to them. The same courtesy had not been extended to Malfoy Senior, however. The last he had heard, Lucius was rotting away in Azkaban, and good riddance.

What sense of responsibility he had felt for Mrs. Malfoy and Draco had ended at the trial, however. Harry hadn't even lingered to hear the verdict, but merely returned Draco's wand, said his piece and walked out.

In reflection, Harry realized that when he had seen Draco in Diagon Alley that day, Draco had looked well. Harry hadn't seen Draco looking anything but pale and drawn since before sixth year, but there had been a color to his cheeks, a certain glow in molten mercury eyes – at least before Ron commented about his mother.

Shrugging off thoughts of Malfoy, Harry downed the remainder of his drink before climbing the loudly protesting staircase in search of a bed. He was not going to sleep on the couch for a second night.


	3. Welcomes and Escapes

The morning of September first, Harry Apparated directly to King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three Quarters. He didn't bother to visit the Burrow first; Hermione, Ron and Ginny would meet him on the train.

Rolling his trunk behind him, Harry found an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Throwing his trunk into the luggage rack, he settled onto the bench, looking out the slightly fogged window to watch the other students arrive.

After spending a moment watching an overwhelmed-looking first year, his gaze was soon drawn to a tall boy with platinum blonde hair and cool, silvery eyes. Malfoy had arrived as alone as he had been at Flourish and Blotts.

Harry watched as Malfoy glanced around in an aloof and detached manner, ignoring the students who stared openly and pointed fingers at him. Everyone knew that Malfoy had been a Death Eater who had escaped Azkaban only through the interference of Harry Potter. He was the only known Death Eater to have avoided imprisonment. Judging by the stares and whispers, apparently that fact made him as much of a spectacle as the Savior. Harry found himself smirking lightly as one brave first year crept a little too close, earning himself a snarl from the blonde Slytherin.

Harry watched in shock as the carefully distanced expression transformed into a genuine smile, the first smile Harry had ever seen on Malfoy's face as he moved to embrace Pansy Parkinson in a welcoming hug. The transformation from the cold, detached indifference to a warm grin was captivating. Harry found himself drawn to the look of the handsome smile upon the blonde's face. As Draco and Pansy greeted each other, Draco lifted his eyes to the Hogwarts Express. Silver eyes were drawn to the watching emerald and a slender, pale brow quirked when he caught sight of his audience. Harry flushed, looking away quickly in his embarrassment at having been caught staring.

He next caught sight of a flash of vivid red hair. He lifted his hand in a half-hearted salute as Ginny waved eagerly at him, dragging Ron and a confused-looking Neville Longbottom aboard the train with her. Soon they joined Harry in his compartment, accompanied by Hermione and Luna Lovegood.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Ginny leaned into Harry's side, capturing his hand between her own. "We're really going back to Hogwarts. Dad had said that it was fixed after You-Know-Who destroyed it, but I just couldn't believe that we were really going back! We really are going back, aren't we?" Ginny's wide, doe-like eyes seemed to beg for Harry to tell her that it was real as she stared beseechingly into his eyes.

In her eyes, Harry saw endless trenches of hope and warmth. He saw the special glow that she had always reserved for him. Harry loved Ginny, she was everything good and kind and strong. She was everything that he didn't deserve. He dropped his gaze from hers, turning to stare out of the train windows, watching the Scottish country slide past.

"Yes, we're really going back," Luna finally answered. In the mirror, Harry saw a reflection of wide, concerned blue eyes upon his own. He was filled with a sudden, overwhelming urge to just get out. He didn't care where he went, what he did, what the consequences were. He just needed an escape; from what, he didn't know. Fighting against the urge, Harry leaned against the back of the bench and closed his eyes, muscles tensed with the need to flee.

When he next opened them, it was dark outside and the Hogwarts Express was arriving in Hogsmeade.

"Come along, Harry," Ginny pulled gently at the hand she still held. "You don't want to hang around on the train all night, do you?"

Harry's immediate response was  _yes_ , but he restrained it with a tight smile and rose to follow Ginny off of the train and into a waiting thestral-drawn carriage.

"Lovely night," Luna stated serenely. The others mumbled their agreement before lapsing again into silence. "It's just the kind of night that an Adulating Bombat would enjoy, don't you think, Neville?"

Neville blinked owlishly at her, uncomfortable with having been singled out. "I… Er… A what?"

"An Adulating Bombat, of course. They fly around at night and bite people's elbows to make them fall in love. It really is quite beautiful."

"Oh," Neville shifted uncomfortably. "I've never heard of them."

Finally, the carriage pulled up before the gates to Hogwarts. Harry looked up at the castle, his heart in his throat. Looking at it now, one couldn't tell that this was the same castle that numerous giants and spells had destroyed the year before. Hogwarts rose proud and pristine, as magnificent and whole as ever, against the star-speckled night sky. The only evidence that a battle had taken place not long before was a small, burnt-out patch at the edge of the forest, where the last Horcrux had been destroyed and Voldemort had fallen.

"It looks just as wonderful as it did before, doesn't it?" Ginny beamed, slipping her arm through Harry's. "It's almost as if the war never happened."

Harry suppressed an agonized sigh as she led him into the Great Hall to take a place at Gryffindor table. If the war really had never happened, it would be Dumbledore sitting at the center of the head table, not McGonagall, while McGonagall greeted the first years, rather than little Flitwick. Snape would take his place beside Dumbledore, giving Harry the familiar sneer before he proceeded to ignore him. But Dumbledore was dead, as was Snape.

Flitwick introduced the Sorting Hat, and the Sorting Ceremony began. Harry shifted lightly on the bench, growing increasingly more uncomfortable as the sorting progressed. All across the Hall, students old and new alike openly stared at him. It was worse than the beginning of first year, when he was a novelty and everyone was intrigued. It was worse than the beginning of fifth year, when everyone had thought him to be a liar and fraud. Now, everyone knew that he was the real deal, and their stares held unabashed admiration instead of hostility. Harry squirmed, knowing that this time it was the hostility he better deserved.

As the sorting came to a close, McGonagall stood and waved her hands, commanding silence. "Welcome back, everyone! Welcome back!" she called, smiling at the assembled students. "I will not keep you from your feasting for long; I just have a few simple announcements to make.

"This year, we are welcoming back Hogwarts' first ever collection of eighth year students. Unfortunately, none of the current dormitories are equipped with either the furniture or space necessary for more students. Therefore, all eighth year students will be taking up residence in the South Tower.

"Also, this year we are welcoming a few new teachers. The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts will be taken over by the Auror Regina Williamson." She gestured to a tall young woman with long, voluptuous dark red hair flowing about her shoulders. She wiggled her fingers in a small wave, a coy smirk upon her full lips as cerulean eyes stared directly into Harry's. Beside him, Ginny hissed.

"I am pleased to say," McGonagall continued, "That the position of Muggle Studies will be taken by none other than Mr. Arthur Weasley who has sportingly agreed to set aside his position in the Ministry in order to teach.

"Now, let the feast begin!"

As she sat, the students sat blinking in surprise at one another before furious conversations broke out.

"Blimey, Dad never told us he was teaching!" Ron blinked in shock as he stared up at the sheepishly waving figure of his father at the head table. A broad grin broke out on his face. "This is bloody brilliant. Harry, we have to take Muggle Studies this year."

"But, Harry, McGonagall's new sleeping arrangements mean that you won't be in the same dorm as me this year," Ginny pouted. "Isn't that simply awful?"

Harry smiled weakly at her, secretly pleased that while he might have classes with Ginny, he wouldn't have to deal with her outside of the classroom as well.

"She means to say that we'll be sleeping with the  _Slytherins_?" Ron demanded, looking as appalled as he sounded.

"Yes, Ronald," Hermione sighed. "That means that you'll be sleeping in the same room as Malfoy."

Ron grimaced in disgust. "Bloody hell, is she  _trying_  to make us all end up in body bags by Christmas?"

At the mention of Draco, Harry cast a glance along the Slytherin table to see how he was taking the news. Nowhere did he see any sign of Draco. He did, however, catch sight of several students staring at him in open awe. As he met their gazes, one second year Ravenclaw swooned dramatically, hand pressed to her heart, before slumping into the shoulder of her friend. The friend patted her knowingly, leering suggestively at Harry.

Harry frowned down at his plate, rubbing his forehead. The same urge that had come over him on the train bombarded him again. Harry wanted to run as far and fast as he could, not caring where he ended up, just to get away. He only needed to get out. An escape. He needed to be anywhere but here. He longed to be anywhere, as long as it was far away from here. The urge boiled with in him, and when he clamped the lid over it to contain the fierce desire, the pressure simply grew until the lid burst off and he  _needed_  to get out.

"Excuse me, will you?" he quickly untucked Ginny's arm from his own as he stood to leave the Hall. Hermione gave him a brief nod before continuing her conversation with Ron. Ginny's worried brown eyes weren't the only pair that followed him as he marched firmly down the Hall.


	4. Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

Harry walked stiffly down the long aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, his head held high. It took all of his self control to keep his steps even, to restrain himself from sprinting out of the Great Hall. From every direction, heads turned to watch him pass and whispers floated behind him like dust on a dirt road.

Only when he finally passed through the doors at the Hall's end did Harry begin to run. He ran blindly, desperately seeking an escape from the despair that threatened to overwhelm him as he succumbed to the fierce need to escape.

It should have been Dumbledore who welcomed them all back to Hogwarts. Colin Creevey should have sat in the seat next to Dennis, who had looked so small and lost without his equally mousey brother. Snape should have taken his seat next to McGonagall and Dumbledore at the high table, but he was gone, too. Harry had killed them all.

When the stitch in his side became unbearable, Harry finally stopped running. He looked up slowly, freezing instinctively as he took stock of his location. While running, Harry had been thinking of Albus Dumbledore. He had subconsciously run directly to the Astronomy Tower, the site of Dumbledore's death.

Swallowing against the lump that rose in his throat, Harry slowly climbed the steps into the tower. At the top of the stairs, he paused, inhaling deeply before he pressed open the door. Harry couldn't explain why he was there, why he continued on to the place where Dumbledore had died, the place of his nightmares – all his own fault as he had been the one to force Dumbledore to claim the potion that weakened him. It was just something that he felt compelled to do. He walked as if in a dream, one of his nightmares, and slowly entered the Astronomy Tower.

The room was much as he had remembered it from his sixth year – large and open, giving a clear view of the stars. He recognized the telescope he had stood at during his fifth year, when the Umbridge hog had tried to stun Hagrid. He recognized the parapet where he and Hermione had handed off Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback to Ron's brother Charlie in his first year – the same spot where Dumbledore had perished. This tower alone held so many memories, a mere shadow of the memories the castle held in its entirety.

Harry cursed himself soundly, turning to leave. He never should have come back to Hogwarts. He should never have imagined that, repaired or not, the castle would not hold even more memories than Grimmauld Place.

His hand on the doorknob to the stairwell, Harry glanced up one final time and froze in surprise.

His gaze fell on a blonde figure, standing across the room. Draco Malfoy's back was to him, either oblivious to or studiously ignoring Harry's presence as he leaned against the railing, staring up into the night sky. Harry hesitated before he dropped his hand from the doorknob and slowly moved towards the Slytherin.

"Malfoy?" he asked cautiously.

The other boy gave a start before turning to face him. "Potter," Draco sneered before turning back to the stars. He brought a bottle of amber liquid to his lips and downed a gulp.

Harry found himself wondering why he was still standing there. However, as he turned to leave, a pale hand flashed out to catch his arm. Draco wordlessly offered the bottle to Harry, who accepted it automatically.

"Try some," the blonde said, his silvery eyes reflecting the night sky. "You look like you need it."

Harry glared suspiciously between Draco and the amber liquid. He remembered all too clearly an incident where Draco had inadvertently poisoned Ron with a bottle of mead. Yet, Draco had been drinking from the bottle. He wouldn't try to poison himself, would he? Figuring he had nothing to lose, Harry placed the mouth of the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back.

The moment the amber liquid touched his tongue, Harry felt as if his entire body were on fire. The liquid scalded as it ravaged down his throat, simultaneously erupting in both his stomach and his head. He felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a horse. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the sensations disappeared, leaving only a faint whirling sensation in his head and a rather sweet aftertaste upon his tongue.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry slurred dazedly, his eyes widening as he stared at Draco. His head felt pleasantly light.

Draco smirked as he took the bottle from Harry, swallowing another mouthful. "Sugar and spice and everything nice," he winked. "—and a rather large concentration of firewhiskey. I made it myself." He passed the bottle back and Harry took another experimental sip.

The effect was the same as before. Harry gasped and spluttered, choking at the sugary burn as the heavy alcohol rushed into his head, clouding his mind and making the world spin.

"Bloody hell," Harry repeated, blinking unfocused eyes. "That's some powerful shit."

"Good, isn't it?" Draco chuckled. The sound rang pleasantly in Harry's ears.

He nodded wordlessly, joining Draco against the tower's railing. They sat in companionable silence, passing the bottle back and forth. Draco stared at the stars. Harry stared at Draco.

The blonde was beautiful, in a way. Harry had never noticed it before – perhaps it was merely the firewhiskey. His blonde hair looked almost white and seemed to glow in the moonlight, giving it a surreal quality that reminded Harry of the pure white unicorn he saw in the forest during his very first year at Hogwarts. A million twinkling stars reflected in liquid silver eyes as Draco gazed into the endlessly black expanse of the night sky.

Draco's features were sharp and pointed. There were strong and well-defined, yet somehow delicate and vulnerable. The long line of his nose gently tapered to a bold point that was both arrogant and subtle. Corners of thin, but elegantly shaped lips lifted up in a small smile as the firm but dainty chin rose to extend and expose the smooth, creamy skin of Draco's throat.

Harry noticed for the first time that Draco wasn't wearing his usual wizard robes, but a sapphire silk Muggle shirt that clung to his well-toned torso, both hiding and emphasizing the long and defined musculature beneath. Dark charcoal slacks hung loosely from slender hips, dusting the tops of his polished black shoes. His appearance was a contrast in every way – dark and light, sharp and smooth, bold and subtle. In short, Draco Malfoy was stunning.

"Are you quite finished admiring me?"

The drawling tone hit Harry like a slap in the face. He blushed furiously, keenly aware that he had just been caught ogling his arch nemesis.

His enemy?

That didn't seem quite right. After all, one does not share a drink in the moonlight on the Astronomy Tower with one's enemy. But what were they, then? Certainly not friends.

Searching for something to say – anything to say – that would draw Draco's attention away from Harry's embarrassment, as Draco lifted the bottle to his lips to take another drink, Harry blurted the first question that came to his mind.

"Why doesn't that stuff affect you?"

Draco turned to him, arching a fine eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Harry flushed. "The drink," he clarified. "It's so strong, but it doesn't affect you at all."

Draco's gaze grew distant, and for a moment, Harry thought he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he spoke. "I've drunken a fair bit of it over the past few years," his lips quirked up in a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "It's the only thing that keeps the nightmares at bay. Perhaps I've erected a rather strong tolerance to its potency."

Harry felt a jolt of surprise at the open honesty in Draco's silver gaze. He thought back to his meeting with Draco in Flourish and Blotts. He had thought at the time that Draco was the one constant in his life, or had at least changed very little. In hindsight, he wondered if perhaps Draco was the thing that had changed the most.

Harry's head was swimming pleasantly when Draco drained the last drops of the sugary firewhiskey and gestured to him.

"Come on, Potter," he said, "the feast will be over now – we had better go and find our new common room."

"Right," Harry stood, blinking dazedly. "It's probably already past curf-… curf- … bedtime." He stumbled down the stairs after Draco, scowling at the blonde's back. Draco had to be as drunk as he was, if not more so, yet the hard alcohol hardly seemed to affect him at all. He must have been doing it on purpose, the git. Just to irk Harry. When he noticed Draco veering slightly to the right, he gave a self-satisfied smirk. 

Harry's feet didn't seem to be quite obeying his mind. They seemed to wobble and stick out at weird angles and step all over each other. It would undoubtedly been easier to stand if the floor would simply stay at one angle instead of tilting all over the place. And where did that wall keep coming from? Another sudden shift from the floor and his feet were tangling together. With a wordless cry, he tipped over, toppling right into Draco's narrow back.

Arms flailing, Draco made a heroic attempt to maintain his balance before Harry reflexively seized him about the waist. Draco released an undignified squeal as he pitched forwards. They rolled down the staircase in a tangle of limbs and a chorus of pained exclamations.

At the foot of the stairs, Harry landed flat on his back, knocking the wind from his chest with a huff of air. Not a moment later, Draco landed on top of Harry's chest with a solid "oomph!"

Silver eyes blinked into emerald in shock, their noses mere inches apart. Giggling, Draco writhed as he tried to free his limbs from Harry's and rise off of his chest before he suddenly froze, his eyes looking suddenly sober as they stared widely at Harry's. Without another word, Draco was off of Harry and disappearing down the hall, his shoulders set stiffly against the weight of Harry's confused gaze. 


	5. Draco Juice

Harry stared after him in shock, slack jawed. What had just happened? He clambered to his feet awkwardly, moaning in sudden mortification when he realized that he was half hard. Malfoy must have felt his erection from where it had pressed into his thigh.

He leaned heavily against the wall, thinking determinedly about the toady Professor Umbridge until his arousal subsided. Malfoy would be appalled, or furious at the very least, he knew. Shuddering, Harry realized that he would never be able to face the Slytherin again.

But where had it come from? He was straight, dammit! He had never thought of another bloke as appealing, even when he acknowledged Bill Weasley's good looks and Blaise Zabini's handsome features and Draco Malfoy's perfect, angular face, liquid silver eyes, and subtly and deliciously shaped torso beneath a taunting sapphire silk and – oh hell.

Harry groaned as he sank to the floor, massaging his forehead in his hands. No way was Malfoy attractive. No way in hell. It was the alcohol. That's all it was. Or perhaps an Adulating Bombat, whatever the hell those were.

Remembering Luna's words, he automatically twisted his arms, peering over his shoulders to check his elbows for bite marks.

He didn't know how long he sat slumped against the wall at the base of the Astronomy Tower. Finally, he reasoned that he had to find his new dorm. Using the wall as leverage to help him to his feet, Harry stumbled down the hallway. His head was whirling more than the lights on a Muggle cop car. Bloody hell, that drink was powerful. Harry had never before encountered anything with as much of a kick as it had. Or, he flushed slightly, as much of an influence.

After much stumbling about the hallway, Harry reached the South Tower. There was no password on the door, he realized with relief. He supposed that, as members from every house were living there, there was no need. As he eased open the oaken doors, he was immediately drawn into a suffocating hug.

"Oh, thank goodness you're safe, Harry! We were so worried! You've been gone for hours; no one's seen you since you left during dinner! We had thought that you might be in Gryffindor with Ginny, but when we went down to check she hadn't seen you, either and we were just so worried!"

"Hermione, let him breathe!" Ron quickly called, his musical voice heavy with amusement and relief.

Beaming, Hermione unwrapped her arms from Harry's neck. However, as her warm brown eyes took in Harry's appearance, her delighted expression faltered and vanished.

"Harry, mate?" Ron asked carefully, "Are you alright?" As Harry swayed unsteadily and his knees weakened, Ron hurried forwards to catch him just before he fell. He half-dragged Harry onto a squishy, brown couch and Hermione fluttered nervously above him.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry's gaze shifted to Hermione and a large grin broke out on his face. "Herm, you look so fluffy," he giggled loudly, reaching out a hand to stroke her bushy hair.

A tittering laugh sounded from directly opposite of them. Ron and Hermione both whirled to see Pansy sprawled across an armchair, her head resting on one arm and her feet tucked over the other. Harry frowned at her indignantly.

"What, Parkinson?" Hermione demanded.

Pansy waited for her giggles to subside before tossing the Gryffindors an amused glance. "Obviously, your previous statement was wrong, Granger," she said with a smug smirk. "Clearly, someone has seen him tonight." She waved a manicured hand at Harry's swollen, red eyes and dazed expression. "That has Draco's signature written all over it."

Ron glared furiously at the boys' dorms, marching towards the staircase. "What's the slimy git done to Harry? I'll kill him!"

Pansy sighed and called after him, "He isn't up there, Weasley. He left before the feast and never came back."

"Well, where is he?" Ron demanded, whirling on his heels.

Pansy scoffed in amusement. "How should I know? Draco does what Draco wants, he always has."

"He doesn't tell you where he's going?"

Pansy rolled her dark eyes elegantly. "Draco's a big boy, Weasley. He doesn't need me to hold his hand."

"But… Aren't you his girlfriend?"

Pansy paused and turned to blink incredulously at Hermione. Her expression clearly inquired if Ron was serious. Hermione, for her part, also stared at Ron in surprise.

"Wherever did you hear that, Weasley? Draco's been openly gay since fifth year."

Through the pleasant fog swirling through his head, Harry felt a brief flash of alarm. If Draco hadn't rejected him because he was a boy, it was on a much more personal level. He felt a tug of shame.

"Malfoy's a poofter?" Ron repeated slowly.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Yes, Ronald. Malfoy has been just shy of being flamboyantly gay, and if you had the slightest ability to look anywhere beyond your own self-absorbency, you might have realized that fact years ago, just like the rest of the student population did."

"Malfoy's really gay? No. No way is  _Malfoy_  a queer. The Slytherins would have taken the mickey out of him if he was." Ron shook his head, firmly in denial.

"Slytherins don't care about sexual orientation," Pansy rolled her eyes again. "As long as he marries a nice, pureblooded girl and produces the obligatory heir and a spare, no one cares if he prefers his partners to have dangly bits."

"But – Malfoy – blimey." Ron sank heavily onto the couch next to Harry with a huff. Suddenly, he sat upright. "You don't... think he ever took a fancy to me, do you?" he asked cautiously, his freckled nose wrinkling in distaste.

Pansy snorted a disbelieving laugh. Harry could have sworn her eyes flickered to him before she answered, "No, I'm pretty sure he's not too keen on carrot-heads. Especially Weasleys."

From the look on Ron's face, it was apparent that he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or offended.

"Alright, now that we've established the grounds of Malfoy's orientation, what does he have to do with the fact that Harry looks as if he's been run over by a hippogriff?" Hermione interjected quickly.

Pansy's gaze flicked back to Harry and she smirked. "From the look of him – dazed expression, goofy grin, swollen and bloodshot eyes, ridiculous comment about Granger's hair," she lazily ticked them off on her fingers, "– he's taken a hit or two of Draco Juice."

"He's done  _what_?" Ron demanded, staring at Pansy in horror. "But... Harry's not... Harry wouldn't..." he seemed unsure of how to finish the thought. Hermione looked equally aghast.

"Two, three, eight..." Harry giggled quietly. Pansy glansed at him in mild interest before turning to shake her head at the others.

"No, no," Pansy said, holding up a hand to silence them. "You misunderstand me. 'Draco Juice' is what I affectionately call Draco's favorite, homemade alcohol. It has quite a kick, and it appears that Dream Boy over there," she jerked a thumb at Harry, "has been into it. The effects usually wear off over night, but it packs one hell of a hangover.

"Which reminds me…" she stood and disappeared up the stairs to the girls' dorms. Not a minute later, she returned carrying a vial filled with a pale pink, slightly smoking potion. Harry noticed that it smelled faintly of strawberries and old potatoes. "Here, Potter," she shoved the vial at him. "Take this now and it'll get rid of the hangover in the morning. I keep a stash of it for Draco – he always needs it." She shook her head fondly as she sat back down.

Harry blinked at the potion in his hand before looking uncertainly at Hermione.

"It looks like a standard Hangover Remedy, but it smells unusual," Hermione frowned.

"That will be the Feverfew," Pansy said, placating. "Draco Juice is, you could say, particularly potent, and the added Feverfew helps to negate the severe headache that comes with the hangover."

Hermione nodded, "that makes sense. I think it's alright, Harry."

Harry downed the potion, which tasted faintly of bitter strawberries.

"So where is Malfoy?" Ron asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Why'd he decide to get Harry wasted and then ditch him?"

Pansy frowned and glanced at the door to the south tower, looking troubled. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"I'll go find him," Blaise Zabini said, making his way across the common room. Harry, Ron and Hermione gave a surprised start. They hadn't noticed the black Slytherin enter the tower.

"Thanks, Blaise," Pansy smiled at him gratefully, a worried line between her dark brows.

Ron stared after him, an unreadable expression twisting his features. "So… is Zabini Malfoy's boyfriend, then?"

Again, Pansy blinked at him in astonishment. "Salazar's Locket, no," she shook her head. "Well, they were together briefly in fifth year, before all of the drama with Draco's family and the Dark Lord tore them apart. You could say that they simply… hold a particular fondness for one another, but it extends no farther than that." Her eyes briefly flashed to Harry again before latching on the door to the tower.

She stared at the door almost longingly before turning back to the Gryffindors. "Well, I'm off to bed. You'd better get Potter to bed, too. He looks half asleep already." Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

Hermione and Ron shrugged at each other before helping Harry to his feet.

That night was the first night since Dumbledore's death that Harry had slept without dreams of green flashes of light and accusing stares.


	6. The Brightest of the Stars

Blaise let the door to the South Tower swing shut behind him with a bang. His dusky rose lips clenched together with worry as he began to head towards the Astronomy Tower. He knew that there were only two places where Draco would go when he wanted to be alone.

A thin line of distress formed between his dark brows. He had heard enough of the conversation between the Gryffindors and Pansy to know that Draco had come across Potter tonight, and that while Potter had returned, Draco hadn't. Blaise only hoped that the worst hadn't happened. Draco wasn't level-headed when it came to Potter at the best of times, and if the state of Potter tonight was any indication, Draco was as drunk as a fly in a beer mug.

When Blaise reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, the sweet, burning scent of stale firewhiskey singed his sensitive nostrils. Draco had been here, but a quick scan of the round room told him that the blonde wasn't here now.

Wasting no more time, Blaise sprinted down the stairs to the Entrance Hall and out into the grounds. Clutching at a stitch in his side, Blaise was thankful that as it was only the first night back, the teachers' corridor patrols were light. He was stopped by no one as he raced through the dark halls.

Once on the Quidditch pitch, Blaise lifted his head to scan the star-strewn night sky. His gaze was soon drawn to a pale figure, high in the sky and prominent against the blanket of black. Blaise's breath caught in his throat. Where most people would disappear into the blackness of the night, Draco's creamy complexion gave him the allusion of glowing in the dark, as if he were the brightest of stars. Blaise had never truly believed in angels until that moment.

Drawing his mahogany wand, Blaise murmured a quiet " _Lumos_ ," bathing himself in the soft, golden glow. He knew that while Draco illuminated the night, a pale specter among the stars, he himself blended effortlessly into the darkness. Without the aid of the light, Draco would never know that Blaise was there.

Even with the gentle light announcing his presence, several minutes passed before Draco turned his Nimbus towards the ground, gracefully climbing off of the broom. Raising a pale, long fingered hand to flatten his almost white hair where the night winds had ruffled it, Draco nodded stiffly to his friend.

"Blaise."

"Draco," Blaise inclined his head in return. He wrinkled his sensitive nose as he inhaled a whiff of firewhiskey. "Flying drunk again?"

"I'm not drunk," Draco shrugged off his accusation with a wave of his hand.

"Really?" Blaise smirked. "That's strange. Potter entered the dorm completely plastered off of your special liquor. Pansy smelled it immediately. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Draco sighed heavily, turning away. "I never should have given him anything to drink." Blaise winced, the smirk sliding off of his face at the thick self-hatred that laced through his friend's voice. "Its potency doesn't affect me so strongly anymore, but it affects him. He was so close, Blaise," Draco moaned and Blaise felt his heart twist. Draco rarely shared his feelings with anyone; to do so willingly, he had to be in emotional anguish. "He was so close and I could have kissed him. He was right there!" he punctuated the last two words with emphasizing jerks of his fist before turning back to Blaise. "Can you imagine how much he would have loathed me if I took advantage of him like that?"

"But you didn't, Draco," Blaise said firmly, grasping his friend's shoulders. He hated the look of utter despair in Draco's stormy eyes.

"I know that I bloody well didn't," Draco snarled, jerking out of Blaise's grip. "But I wanted to. I wanted to kiss him so fucking badly that it terrifies me." He folded his arms around himself, looking so vulnerable that Blaise drew him against his chest.

He pressed a dry kiss to Draco's feather soft hair, unsure of what else to do. It wasn't often that Draco opened up to anyone, even when they had been involved with each other. Now that he had, Blaise was at a loss. He merely held his beautiful friend, inhaling his unique, almost lemony scent. Gradually, Draco relaxed into his embrace.

Draco allowed himself to be held for a few prolonged moments before he pulled away. "My apologies, Blaise," he murmured, flushing with shame. "I'm drunk. This won't happen again."

As they started back towards the castle, Blaise saw Draco cast one last, lingering gaze at the night sky.

"It's dark tonight," the blonde said softly.

Blaise felt the ghost of a smile teasing the corner of his lips. "It is," he agreed. He whispered " _Nox_ " to extinguish the light of his wand and opened the large, wooden doors to Hogwarts for Draco.

They walked to the South Tower in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Draco's agitated words kept repeating through Blaise's mind. " _He was so close and I could have kissed him… I wanted to kiss him so fucking badly that it terrifies me. He was so close. Can you imagine how much he would have loathed me?_ "

The corners of Blaise's mouth dipped downwards in a slight frown. He had known that Draco had harboured a soft spot for Potter at least since Draco and Blaise had separated, if not before. But now, he wondered if perhaps Draco were in love with the Gryffindor. His frown deepened. Potter was still dating the Weasley bint. Besides that, he knew that while Draco would do anything that he could to get with Potter, he would desperately try to make sure that Potter never loved him back. Potter could never love Draco back.

A fire was still smoldering in the hearth as they entered the South Tower, but they ignored it and headed straight for the boys' dorm. As he undressed, Blaise silently watched Draco, a slight frown across his features. The blonde had stopped at the foot of Potter's bed, gazing down at the sleeping Gryffindor with his heart in his eyes.

Blaise loved Draco and Pansy loved Draco. Blaise knew that Draco would never wish that burden upon anyone else, as much as he might wish for Potter to love him in return. Draco would never want to break Potter's heart that way.


	7. Only He Could See It

Harry awakened slowly, wincing into the blinding morning sun that filled the South Tower with a golden sheen. They were going to need to get drapes, he reflected as he groggily rubbed his aching eyes with the tips of calloused fingers. He sat up and reached for his glasses. Staring slowly around the room, he mused about how odd it was to wake in a room filled with sleeping boys from other houses and not feel remotely threatened.

Harry's emerald gaze locked on the still-sleeping form of Draco Malfoy as he blurrily recalled the events of the night before. Malfoy had been right; his alcohol really was the best way to avoid the dreams. Harry hadn't slept so well since the night before his name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire. Parkinson's hangover remedy had worked its wonders, as well. Other than an increased sensitivity to light and a persistent, though not unpleasant, buzzing behind his eyes, Harry felt none of the unpleasant effects that he had come to associate with hangovers. And, he thought with a pronounced wince, he had been rather drunk. He was surprised that he remembered the previous evening at all.

Again, he glanced at Malfoy, and a groan escaped through his slightly parted lips. Perhaps he remembered a little  _too_  well.

The stirrings of sleeping boys around him roused him from his musings.

"Morning, Harry," Ron spoke around an impressive yawn as he stretched wildly.

"Turn out the lights," Terry Boot mumbled, flopping onto his stomach and wrapping his pillow around his ears.

"Bloody hell, will you all just shut up?" Theodore Nott snarled as he burrowed deeper into his blankets.

Harry's gaze flicked back to Draco, and he gave a small start as he realized that the blonde's quicksilver, quietly intense eyes were unflinchingly locked on his own. Harry flushed and looked away quickly, afraid to confront whatever had happened – or not happened – between him and Draco the night before.

As he sat next to Ron at the breakfast table, Ginny immediately squirmed up to him.

"Harry, where did you go last night?" she pouted, staring beseechingly at him with soft, brown eyes. "When Ron and Hermione came to ask if I'd seen you, I was so worried."

Harry shrugged heavily. "I'm sorry, Gin. I just needed to – clear my head."

"Or cloud it," Ron injected dryly, rolling his eyes. Harry silenced him with a glare.

"It's alright," Ginny said brightly, "we have Potions with the Slytherins right after breakfast – it should be wonderful now that we'll be in classes together and Snape won't be teaching!"

Harry felt his heart clench. "Yes, isn't it wonderful that he's dead?" he scowled. Ginny didn't seem to notice either his sullen mood or the heavy sarcasm in his tone.

"Thank Merlin that he isn't around to harass you and take all those points from Gryffindor anymore." She shuddered, "He was so unfair, always favoring the Slytherins. And he was a right bastard to you, too."

"Yes, and thank Merlin that he's no longer around to save all our lives, too."

Ginny smiled indulgently at him. "Don't be silly, Harry," she scoffed. " _You_  saved all of our lives, not Snape."

Harry sighed and rubbed at his scar. "I saved no one's life."

Ginny finally seemed to notice the dangerously flat tone of his voice, for all the wrong reasons. "McGonagall's bang out of line for doing this to you," she snapped, shoveling scrambling eggs into her mouth. "Sleeping with Malfoy, I can only imagine what that's like."

"What?" Harry croaked, his mind leaping to the previous night, at the base of the Astronomy Tower.

"I mean," Ginny continued, "I understand that it was really the only option. There really isn't enough room in the house dormitories, but actually sleeping in the same room as that foul git?" She squeezed his hand sympathetically. "It's a wonder that you managed to get any sleep at all."

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Draco was deep in conversation with Blaise and Pansy. The blonde's steely grey eyes flickered up, widening briefly when they met Harry's before Draco smirked. He muttered something and Blaise glanced up, rolling his eyes as he grasped Draco's forearm. He spoke urgently to the blonde, his dark eyes narrowed and focused. Draco's eyes distanced and a frown grew on his features. He nodded unhappily in response to Blaise before turning away from Harry.

Sighing, Harry nodded in agreement. "It's a wonder," he murmured back.

"A miracle, more bloody likely," Ron grumbled around a mouthful of pancakes. "Did you hear the way that Goyle was snoring? He makes Neville sound like a blasted songbird."

"I don't snore," Neville protested from Ginny's other side. "…Do I?"

Ron swallowed and grinned, but made no reply.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at Ron in distaste. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronald," she reproached. The moment her back turned, Ron affectionately tipped his girlfriend the two-fingered salute.

Feeling eyes on his back, Harry turned around in time to see half of the Hufflepuff table quickly turn away, blushing furiously. He scowled into his pumpkin juice. Why couldn't they bloody leave him well enough alone?

"Come on, Harry," Ginny said brightly as she stood and gathered her school books. "We had better go to Potions now or we'll all be late. Even if old Sluggy does dote on you, it's best not to get on his bad side too early in the year."

Harry rolled his eyes. "He'll survive, I'm sure."

"Of course he will, Harry," Ginny said happily. "You defeated You-Know-Who! We'll all survive now." She tossed him a cheeky grin as she pulled him from the bench. She completely missed the slight flinch in his eyes at her casual words.

She didn't get it. She just didn't get it. None of them did. How could he save them all when he had already killed so many? As Ginny released his hands, he wiped them furiously on the front of his robes, ignoring her slightly hurt expression.

There was blood on his hands. So much blood. Dumbledore's blood, Cedric's blood, Sirius' blood, Fred's blood, Remus' blood… The list went on and on. There was so much blood.

But only he could see it.

"Ah, Harry m'boy!" Professor Slughorn beamed as Ginny towed Harry into the Potions dungeon, closely followed by Ron, Hermione and Neville. The other Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh and eighth years were already in the classroom and seated. Harry gave Slughorn a vague smile before sliding into the empty space between Ginny and Hermione. Ginny glowed at him, as if it had been his choice to sit in the only empty seat in the room, and immediately slid her hand onto his knee.

"Welcome back, seventh and eighth years, welcome back," Slughorn beamed at the class. "As it is only the first day back in the new school year, I thought that perhaps we would have a spot of fun. Flip to page one hundred and seventy-two in your potions book."

There was a rustle of pages turning, followed by several small exclamations of surprise.

"Veritaserum, Professor?" a cool voice drawled from the back of the room. "You want us to brew a truth potion?" Harry wondered if he were imagining the mildly panicked undertone that colored Malfoy's careless words.

"Quite right, Mr. Malfoy," Slughorn's grin stretched from ear to ear. "As Veritaserum is a very complicated potion to brew, we will be spending a month on it in class. I shall divide you up into partners with whom you will be working for the extent of that time. When your potion is brewed to perfection – and I expect no less, mind – you shall test it on each other!" He smiled delightedly at the class. "Now doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Sounds like he's barmy," Ginny whispered in Harry's ear, her lips lightly brushing against the outer shell of it. Harry shivered uncomfortably at the sensation.

Ignoring the uneasy muttering and shifting of his students, Slughorn surveyed his class with an air of great excitement.

"Now, I think that so we can all get to know one another a little better, each Gryffindor will be paired with a Slytherin. Don't give me that look, Harry m'boy. Right, then why don't we pair Miss Weasley with Miss Parkinson? Miss Granger, if you would sit by Mr. Zabini? Mr. Weasley, by Mr. Nott, if you will. That's the ticket. Mr. Longbottom, shy on over to Miss Greengrass. Mr. Finnegan, Miss Davis, there you go –" He continued to move through the students, until – "Harry m'boy, if you would sit by Mr. Malfoy –"

"No bloody way," Draco snarled, glaring murderously at Harry. "No way am I working on a truth potion with  _him_. No bloody way am I working on  _anything_  with him. He'll – he'll destroy it. He's awful at Potions." He folded pale arms tightly across a narrow chest, his silver eyes glinting with ice.

"Nonsense!" Slughorn boomed a hearty chuckle. "Harry was the absolute best brewer and theorist there was in his sixth year. Smashing amount of your mother's talent you got there, m'boy," he winked at Harry, ignoring Malfoy's glower.

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his chest even as he scowled back at Malfoy. He must have been right in thinking that, after one brief night of companionship, Malfoy hated him more than ever. He seized his book bag and slumped angrily into the seat next to Malfoy, refusing to look at the other boy.

Bloody brilliant. Everyone in the school falls over him as if he were some kind of god when he least wants it. Save for one person, who treats him like the scum on the bottom of his prissy shoe every time they had the misfortune of meeting. All in all, which was worse?

Harry tugged a cauldron towards them before stomping off to the student supply cupboards to retrieve the ingredients for the first phase of the potion. He knew he was acting childish, but he didn't care. After the "Tower Incident", he had been terrified to see Draco again. Now, Malfoy was acting exactly as Harry had feared that he would. And Harry was stuck with him for a month.

He rubbed a hand across his scar, suppressing a frustrated groan.

An entire month.

"Come on, Malfoy," Harry sighed in resignation. "Let's get started."

Draco curled his lip in a challenging sneer, but lit a small fire under their cauldron. Harry found himself watching with fascination as Draco deftly broke the seal on the vial of black widow venom and diluted it with Phoenix tears before stirring it to a boil in the cauldron. When Malfoy was brewing potions, no one could deny that he was in his element. While his eyes retained their guarded tension, his sneer slowly relaxed into the ghost of a genuine smile, and the affect was gripping.

Harry was entranced by the sure movements of Draco's hands, the small look of wonder upon his face. He watched, captivated as the cold distance of Malfoy's carefully cultivated, wintery superiority slowly melt away into the whisper of a gentle spring. Malfoy was beautiful.

All too soon, Draco looked up and his expression was back to its usual icy disdain.

"Well?" he asked frigidly. "Are you just going to sit there and gape like a Weasley given a Galleon, or are you going to slice that firecrab heart?"

Harry flushed and immediately set to work.

No one but Blaise noticed the look of silent longing in Draco's eyes, even as he sneered at his potions partner. Only he could see it.


	8. It Could Always Be Worse

"Well, that wasn't as terrible as I expected," Hermione shrugged as they left the potions classroom. "Zabini was surprisingly pleasant to work with."

"Oh, yes," Ron scowled at his girlfriend. "Zabini's such a charmer. He's a bloody poof, Hermione."

"Oh, so you noticed, did you?" Hermione adopted a mockingly delighted tone. "I didn't realize that you had taken your gaydar in for repairs."

"Nott was a right foul git," Ron forged on, ignoring her. "He did nothing but sit and complain about the indignity of being forced to work with a blood-traitor Weasley and how he was sure to fail the class if he had to keep working with the scum of Gryffindor." He rolled his eyes. "He would be much more bloody likely to pass if he would get off of his fat arse and do the assignment. How long are we stuck with them again?"

"A bloody month," Harry snarled darkly. "I'm stuck with Draco sodding Malfoy for an entire bloody month."

Hermione cast him a quick glance as they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "It didn't seem like you would have minded so much last night," she said slyly.

"Last night?" Ginny injected, taking a seat next to Harry at the back of the room. "You were with Malfoy last night when everyone was looking for you?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said quickly as the Slytherins began to file into the room. "Nothing happened." If she found anything odd with the thought that Harry felt the need to assure her that nothing had happened with Draco, she made no comment.

Silver eyes met emerald as Draco entered the classroom before both quickly flicked away.

The Defense classroom was decorated in a combination of the tastes of Snape and Lupin, with a hint of the _Dumbledore's Army_ training room mixed in. The walls were covered in gruesome pictures of witches and wizards undergoing the effects of painful curses and potions. Interesting creatures in various cages and tanks were stowed in one corner. At one side of the room were assorted spell practice targets.

"Good morning, seventh and eighth years," a silky voice purred from the back of the room. Harry turned with the rest of the class to see the curvy Auror Regina Williamson. "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, I am Professor Williamson."

"Bloody hell," Ron moaned appreciatively, taking in Williamson's shapely figure, voluptuous dark red hair and lips that curved into a small, secretive smile. Hermione slapped him soundly on the back of the head and he lapsed into a sheepish silence, his eyes never leaving the Professor.

Harry snorted quietly as every female in the classroom eyes her with distrust. Beside him, Ginny placed her hand possessively on his thigh and hissed quietly.

"It is my understanding that this class has been taught about the most common dangerous creatures and spells and has had a brief look at the Unforgivables," Professor Williamson said in a sultry voice as she swayed to the front of the classroom. Her low-cut, deep green robes only accentuated both the dark red of her flowing locks and the flecks of green in her luminous, hazel eyes. "This year, we will be studying all of these things more thoroughly and expanding your knowledge of Dark beasts, spells and objects."

She swept her gaze around the classroom, lingering on Harry and giving him the tiniest of smiles. Harry felt Ginny's hand tighten almost painfully on his leg. He snuck a small glance at her to find that Ginny's eyes were narrowed dangerously, her mouth drawn up in a hard line.

"I must say," Williamson continued, "that I am simply thrilled to have Harry Potter in my class." She swept an appreciative gaze up and down his body. Harry crossed his arms uncomfortably across his chest. Ginny's hand slid upwards and tightened even more as she hissed again. "Your skills are legend, Harry," Williamson purred. "It is an absolute honor to have the Savior of the Wizarding World, You-Know-Who's bane, the Boy Who Lived and Lived Again in my class. I am, after all," she winked, her lips curving in another small smile, "your biggest fan."

Harry felt his heart plummet. This could not be happening. She could not be bloody serious. He had desperately tried to ignore his fan mail and the insistent press of adoring fans all summer just so that he could land himself in a class taught by a young, gorgeous, flirty maniac? How could it be any worse?

Ginny's hiss grew into a snarl and the professor finally noticed her possessive position by Harry's side.

"Oh, hello," Williamson's smile grew cold and challenging. "You must be…" She checked her roster. "Miss Weasley. I'm sorry, Miss Weasley, but I do not allow displays of affection in my classroom. If you would please trade seats with…" She glanced again at her roster. "Mr. Malfoy?"

Ginny, Harry, Draco and Blaise all froze, staring at the new professor in open horror.

"Oh, come now," Williamson smirked delightedly. "Surely it won't be so bad."

As a scowling Ginny was replaced by a scowling Draco, Harry wasn't sure which was worse. On one hand, he was freed from the constantly suffocating presence of Ginny. On the other, he was now stuck next to Malfoy for both of the two classes he had had so far. On top of it all, he wasn't entirely sure whether he wanted to strangle the blonde git or snog him senseless. He still quite clearly recalled the incident at the base of the Astronomy Tower – thin, shapely lips so close to his own, eyes of warm silver outlined in black with a darker, steely color surrounding the pupils like fire as a scent similar to lemons, wood smoke and something feral flowed around him and warm breaths puffed against his face.

Harry bit his lip and rubbed a hand nervously across his scar as Draco smoothly slid into the seat next to him. He mentally cursed that Ginny had left her chair so close to him. Malfoy was seated far enough away that their legs didn't brush together, but near enough that Harry's air was permeated by Malfoy's heady scent. He shuddered lightly as the tantalizing aroma seemed to drift straight to his groin.

Bloody hell! Harry pressed his eyes closed tightly. There was no way he was still drunk from last night! He was so stupid for saying that it could be no worse. It could always be worse.

He vaguely reasoned that he should be focusing on whatever Professor Williamson was saying, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on anything that wasn't blonde and angry. Harry peeked an eye open and snuck a glance at Malfoy. The Slytherin was still scowling heavily and determinedly ignoring the Gryffindors on either side of him. He truly was beautiful, his milky, flawless skin not even breaking a crease as he sneered openly at Williamson. His silvery eyes glowed with internal fires and a pink tongue slowly flicked out to moisten soft, thin lips. Harry's eyes traced the enticing movement, his own tongue mimicking the action subconsciously. Merlin, Malfoy was gorgeous and apparently gay and Harry just wanted to –

"Harry, darling, would you care to share? We're all dying to know, I'm sure." Harry's heart jumpstarted, his attention snapping to the front of the room where Williamson's lips curved sensuously at him.

"I… Er… What?" Harry stammered, flushing slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw silver eyes latch on to him.

"Well, how you felt while you defeated You-Know-Who, of course! Haven't you been listening, Harry?" she stuck a full bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

Harry sighed stiffly, feeling the familiar rage boiling within him, spurred by his self-annoyance, the blonde sitting stiffly beside him and the professor who was eyeing him in such a sultry manner. "No, I would not care to share," he snarled before standing quickly and walking out of the room amidst startled whispers and stares.

Muttering nonsensical, angry words to himself, Harry stalked to the South Tower, kicking a chair as he passed before settling into the worn couch by the fire, trying to freeze the gently flickering flames with his eyes.


	9. Malfoxy

Harry sat on the worn leather couch, his head in his hands as he rubbed at his scar and stared into the fireplace.

Why did everyone expect so much from him? Ginny expected him to love her. Ron expected him to not break Ginny's heart. Hermione expected him to be the perfect celebrity. Malfoy expected him to hate him. Everyone expected him to be so glad now that it was over, now that Voldemort and Lupin and Snape and Dumbledore and Sirius and so many others were dead.

They were all necessary deaths, everyone said. Well, they wouldn't have been dead if they had just left it between Voldemort and himself, the way it was supposed to be.

He sat for hours, unmoving and staring into the fire. He didn't want anyone to see him and question why he had run out in Defense. He didn't want to hear that he was being stupid, that he should just let everything go and be a hero. He didn't want to be happy when it was his fault. It was all his fault.

The creak of an opening door roused him from his thoughts, and Harry looked up to see Ginny Weasley slip into the room. He suppressed a dismayed sigh; she was the very last person that he wanted to see.

"Harry?"

He felt the couch dip down beside him, a warm hand encasing his own and slowly pulling it away from his face. Harry found himself staring into concerned brown eyes, her freckled nose inches from his own. Her flowery scent filled him, but it was not the smell that he craved. Brown eyes weren't the color he wanted to see.

"Harry, love, what's wrong? I'm so sorry that she moved me and you had to sit by Malfoy. I know how you hate that bastard." Harry bit back the sudden desire to giggle. "We were all so worried when you never showed up for lunch or any classes this afternoon!"

Harry felt a surge of irritation towards the redhead who clutched his hand so desperately. "Look, Gin," he said as nicely as he could while attempting to disengage her fingers from his. "I appreciate it, I really do, but I just don't want to talk to you right now." He stood and quickly left the South Tower with only one destination in mind, ignoring the hurt look Ginny gave him.

He didn't stop walking until he reached the base of the Astronomy Tower. As he looked up the curving staircase, he sighed to himself, "Harry, why are you here?"

He paused, but there came no reply. He didn't really expect one.

Swallowing hard, Harry squared his chin and started up the stairs. He didn't know why he was there. He didn't know why he didn't turn back. He just kept walking until he pressed open the door at the top of the stairs and entered the observation room.

The setting sun painted a mural of pink, orange and purple on the walls of the Astronomy Tower and, in spite of himself, Harry was quickly enraptured by the paradoxical, violently gentle blend of colour. The colours covered all of the walls and every surface in the soft, warm light.

A sparkle of amber glass tucked behind a telescope caught Harry's eye, and he immediately realized what it was. He picked up the bottle and stared at it broodingly.

Malfoy, he knew, would be furious if Harry drank his – as Pansy had called it – Draco Juice. Yet, the idea of a furious Malfoy storming towards him, his eyes sparking silver shards of ice, was oddly appealing. Harry also knew that if he drank any of the firewhiskey, he was likely to become just as drunk has he had been the night before. But then, Malfoy's words rose in his mind and his decision was made. " _It's the only thing that keeps the nightmares at bay._ "

Without further ado, Harry murmured a spell that vanished the cork and seal before taking a tentative sip.

The results were instantaneous and the same as before. Harry's head fell back and he gasped as the fiery liquid scorched a path through his bloodstream, filling his head, chest and limbs with its sweet burn. His fingers and toes tingled pleasantly as his head began to dance a merry tango.

Harry was quite happily drunk, slumped against a telescope with his feet dangling over the edge of the Tower, when he noticed a pale figure sitting beside him. Harry blinked over at the man, half in surprise and half in irritation.

"Lovely evening, isn't it, Potter?"

"G'way, Maufloy," Harry slurred, twisting his mouth in an attempted scowl.

"Potter," Draco smirked in amusement, "You seem to be forgetting that you are currently chugging – and wearing, judging by the appearance of your jumper –  _my_ whiskey. You wouldn't want me to be forced to take that away from you, would you?"

Harry stared in horror between the bottle and Draco's face. "'M not!" he insisted. "Wouldn' drink any sink from a pretty prick like Malfolly." He pinched Draco's arm viciously as his eyes grew wide in a wounded expression and he cuddled the bottle close. "You wouldn' take 'way, wouldja?"

Draco's smirk widened. "A pretty prick, am I? Why thank you, Potter."

"G'way," Harry repeated, folding his arms petulantly across his chest, the bottle of firewhiskey tucked safely between his chest and his arms.

Draco merely retrieved another small bottle of alcohol, uncapped it and began to sip in silence, settling in next to Harry.

"Hey, Mafloy."

"Yes, Potter?"

"Why'dya come up here ev'ry night?"

"Because I like to be close to the sky."

"Oh."

Harry took another gulp of the whiskey and began to choke. Draco watched him quietly until Harry's breathing went back to normal. The silence stretched on.

"Hey, Mufly."

"Yes, Potter?"

"Why're you so quiet?"

"I'm just thinking, Potter."

"'Bout what?"

"How much I want to kiss you."

"…Really?"

"No."

"Oh."

The moon rose higher in the sky. Dinner in the Great Hall must have been about over by now. Harry wondered if he should go get some food. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, but he didn't feel hungry. Besides, he was more than content to sit with Draco and the scorching sensations running through his bloodstream.

"Hey, Malfoxy."

"…What did you just call me?"

"Malfoxy. 'Cause it's close ta your name an' you're so foxy."

"... You're drunk, Potter."

"'M not."

Harry was beginning to feel rather drowsy and annoyed that the alcohol didn't seem to affect Draco at all. He scowled again at the blonde. Suddenly, he was struck with the thought that the alcohol didn't affect Draco because he was gay. In his current drunken state, this seemed very reasonable. It also sprung forth new thoughts.

"Hey, Mulflouy."

"Yes, Potter?"

"Wha's it like t'be gay?"

Draco choked on his whiskey, blinking at Harry in shock. "Par—Pardon?

"Wha's it like t'be gay?" Harry repeated, pinching Draco's arm sharply.

A small smile began to creep at the corners of Draco's mouth. "Why do you ask? Are you bored with the Weaselette and looking to expand to new horizons?"

Harry frowned in confusion. "Wha' does Ginny have ta do with you bein' gay, Malfoxy?"

Draco rolled his eyes in a light sneer. "Look, Potter," he said with an indulgent smile, "it doesn't take a genius to tell that there's something missing in your relationship with Weasley. You were more interested in her when you didn't know that she existed."

Harry pinched Draco again, scowling at the blonde. "What. Does. Ginny. Have. To. Do. With. You. Bein'. Gay?" He enunciated each word carefully, feeling a surge of irritation towards the Slytherin.

Again, Draco merely smirked, amusement written across his aristocratic features. "Absolutely nothing, little Gryffindor." His expression grew feral. "Would you like me to tell you what it is like to be gay? Or would you like me to show you?"

Harry smiled blissfully into Draco's warm, silver orbs, watching as they faded in and out of a hazy cloud. "Pretty prick," he cooed again before his eyes rolled back and he slumped forwards. He was dimly aware of the weightless, floating sensation of a Featherweight Charm before he was scooped up into strong but spindly arms. Harry instantly fell asleep.

Blaise was alone in the common room, flicking through his Charms book when he heard the door open. He glanced up, then promptly threw aside his book and rushed to help Draco bring an unconscious Harry into the Tower.

"What the hell, Draco?" he snapped in a furious snarl. "Tell me you didn't give him any more firewhiskey."

"Of course I didn't," Draco retorted scathingly. "He found it himself."

Blaise gave his dark eyes an exaggerated roll. "And you didn't think to take it away from him?"

"Of course I didn't," the blonde repeated. "He's a grown man; he's at liberty to drink what he wants.

"Draco," Blaise moaned, "this can't keep happening. What if –"

"Nothing happened. Nothing's going to happen," Draco injected bitterly. "I have no intentions of debauching the sodding Savior, no matter how much I might want to."

"Draco –"

"Enough, Blaise. Fetch a couple of Hangover Remedies and help me get him into his bed, would you?"

Blaise frowned worriedly but hastened to comply.


	10. An Adulating Bombat, Of Course

Harry awoke, blinking into the sunlight that fell across his bed. He found that he was still fully dressed and covered in the scent of stale whiskey. With a grimace of disgust, he rolled out of bed and into the shower, savoring the second morning he had awoken completely refreshed and nightmare-free.

Nightmare-free?

Harry frowned at the gentle stream of water that trickled down his nose. The only thing that had helped take away the nightmares was Draco Juice.  _It's the only thing that keeps the nightmares at bay_.

"Fuck!" Harry snarled, bashing his head against the shower wall. He knew that he had been drunk last night, but he couldn't recall anything that had happened. He had made an utter fool of himself, he was sure.

The word 'Malfoxy' rang through Harry's mind and he sank to sit on the shower floor with a moan, the water beating a consistent rhythm against his bare back. He pressed his face into his hands. No  _way_ had he really called Malfoy 'Malfoxy'. No  _way_.

Harry stood up slowly, rubbing the tips of his calloused fingers across his scar. Malfoy had been drunk, too. Malfoy wouldn't remember. Malfoy wouldn't remember that he had seen Harry on the tower at all, right?

Wrong.

Harry growled in frustration, striking the wall of the shower stall with his fist. The firewhiskey barely seemed to affect Malfoy at all. He would remember  _everything_. Harry bit down hard on his knuckle. Perhaps nothing had happened. Perhaps it had all been a crazy dream. Perhaps the alcohol had replaced his old nightmares with new horrors. Nothing had really happened last night, right?

Wrong.

"Okay, Harry. Relax," he paced furiously in the small stall. "You don't even know that nothing bad did happen. So maybe you did call Malfoy by the name of Malfoxy, but so what? You were drunk. It meant nothing. You can't have been that far gone, could you have been? You made it back to the dorms, after all."

He had a sudden recollection of strong arms around him, lifting him as he snuggled against a narrow but firm chest. " _Fuck!_ " He stumbled back and hissed in pain when his elbow scraped against a loose tile in the shower wall.

"Harry? Are you alright, mate?" Harry froze at the sound of Ron's voice.

Of course he wasn't alright! He might or might not have made himself out to be a complete idiot. He might or might not have tried to fling himself upon Malfoy.

"Fine," he called back to Ron. "Bad dream."

"You know, mate," Ron began as Harry heard water begin to pour from the shower next to his, "You might want to consider taking some more of Malfoy's Malfoy Juice or something. You didn't have any nightmares that night you had some, did you?"

Harry rubbed at his scar, filling his eyes with the refreshing sting of shampoo foam.

Ginny plopped down next to him at the breakfast table, wearing a brilliant grin as she leaned in to plant a sloppy kiss on Harry's cheek. Harry was careful not to shove her away, but he didn't miss the delighted glow on Ron's face. While Ron might be furious if anyone else kissed his sister, he was more than happy to see her in the arms of Harry Potter. No matter that Harry wanted nothing to do with her.

"You were in my dream last night, Harry," Ginny beamed as she loaded her plate with omelet. "Do you know what you did? You told me that you loved me. You do love me, don't you?" she seized his face between her hands, planting matching kisses on both cheeks.

"No, I don't," Harry said calmly, taking a bite of his bacon. He glanced up at the Slytherin table and froze as he noticed silver eyes fastened upon his own. Draco smirked and the expression seemed to leap straight to Harry's groin.

"Oh, really, Harry," she chuckled fondly, patting his thigh. "You're such a kidder. Anyone could tell that you're very much interested in me." She smiled mockingly at the bulge in his trousers.

Harry sighed darkly, feeling his excitement dissipate under Ginny's scrutiny. He ignored her as he shoveled eggs and bacon ravenously into his mouth. He hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast the day before and he was starving.

"Really, Harry," Ginny shook her head. "You're going to make yourself sick if you keep eating like that. Come on, we have Muggle Studies with Dad in a few minutes!"

Harry sighed as he set his fork aside. How did he manage to get into these positions?

"Good morning, Harry," a rather dreamy voice greeted him as he entered the Muggle Studies classroom. A huge grin spread across Harry's face as he greeted Luna in a crushing hug. He had always nursed a strong fondness for the Ravenclaw, even while he was irritated to the point of despair with everyone else.

"How are you, Luna?" he asked warmly as he took the open seat next to her, ignoring Ginny as she sidled in next to him.

"Excessively ordinary," Luna shrugged. "I got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. I'm hoping that it will discourage the wrackspurts."

"Hopefully," Harry nodded his agreement as Arthur Weasley began to teach about the wonders of a ball-point pen (Ingenious, Muggles are! You can write and write without having to dip for ink!).

His irritation spiked again, however, when he felt Ginny surreptitiously slide her chair closer to his and begin to trail her fingers up his thigh. Harry clenched his fists tightly and breathed deeply through his nose to calm himself from his mounting infuriation with her, but she merely seemed encouraged, mistaking his tightly controlled annoyance for arousal. Her hand slid higher, shifting to stroke light circles on the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his bits.

"Ginny," he snarled under his breath, stilling her hand with his own. "Stop this now."

"Why?" she whispered huskily next to his ear. "You want it. I can feel that you want me." Her hand moved to lightly cup his member through his wool trousers, half-hard from her administrations. She squeezed gently and Harry released his breath in a low hiss, glancing up to make sure that no one had noticed.

"Do I want it? Sure, I'm an eighteen year-old boy. Why wouldn't I want it?" he snorted. "Do I want you? No. Never." He took her hand again, gently removing it from his lap.

"No," Ginny chuckled throatily. "You want me. You want to be inside of me, making love to me. You want to cry my name when you come inside of me, filling me. You want to—"

"SHUT THE BLOODY FUCK UP!" Harry snarled, leaping up from his seat. Her attempted seduction had been enough to dissipate his arousal and leave him feeling faintly ill. Whatever he wanted, whomever he wanted, it wasn't her. "I don't want you and I never have! Now keep your filthy paws to yourself and listen to someone the next time they say no!"

"Harry—" Ginny reached for his arm, her face stricken.

"No," Harry jumped back, out of her reach. The entire class was staring at him; he could feel their eyes on his back. He could sense Ron's mutinous glare, Hermione's disappointed stare, Arthur's bewildered frown. "Just stay away from me, Ginny."

She blinked furiously against the threatening tears, and Harry was reminded of Dumbledore's funeral, two years ago, when she had let him go without a fuss. Her watering eyes now were a tribute to how much they had all changed.

"You bastard," Ginny hissed through her tears. "You complete  _wanker_. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Harry can't love you, Ginny," Luna stated softly, touching Ginny's arm. Her expression remained untroubled and serene. "He was bitten."

"By what? What does he being bitten have anything to do with this?" Ginny scowled, crossing her arms defensively across her chest.

"By an Adulating Bombat, of course," Luna shrugged her narrow shoulders, looking untroubled. "See his elbow? He can't love you because he's fallen in love with someone else."

Harry blinked in shock at her words, twisting his arm out to the side of his body to stare at his elbow. The flesh was marred by a small, crescent-shaped scratch. He laughed softly.

"That's nothing, Luna. I cut it on a loose tile in the shower this morning."

But Luna only shook her head, a fond smile upon her face. "This scratch is much older than that," she said simply. "See the mild scarring here? I noticed it on the train. You had been bitten for at least a week by that point. You wouldn't have noticed the actual bite at all."

Harry shook his head in dismay at the furious whispering that broke out through the class. Hermione looked worried; Ron was cycling through many different shades of purple and red at an alarming pace.

"It's alright, Harry," Luna took his hand, gently leading him from the room. "Excuse us, Professor Weasley; we'll stop disrupting your class now. You see, Harry, people really get bitten by Adulating Bombats quite frequently – Muggles usually call it 'Love at First Sight', I believe." She squeezed his hand comfortingly before releasing him.

"I can tell you really don't want to listen to me – you'd much rather be alone right now. I can see it in your eyes. I'll go back to class now. Don't worry, Harry, Ginny will be alright. Ron's angry, but he'll come around. Hermione's just worried about you. This will sort itself out soon enough." She skipped back to the classroom with a flip of her blonde hair, leaving Harry staring after her, far from reassured.

There was no way that Adulating Bombats were real.

Was there?


	11. Volatile At Best

Harry froze as he entered the South Tower, staring in disbelief at the figure lounging across a couch. The last person he wanted to see. The person he wanted to see the most.

"What the hell are  _you_  doing here?" he snarled at the beautiful, elegantly sprawled blonde.  _Malfoxy_ , his mind whispered treacherously.

"Good morning, pleasure to see you, too," Draco snorted, not bothering to look up from the book he was reading.

Harry scowled, irritated that Malfoy wouldn't look up and acknowledge him properly. "What would Daddy say if he knew that his precious Draco was skipping class?" he asked tightly.

Draco did look up from his book then, his sharp features contorted into a mask of fury. "That's neither here nor there, Potter," he snapped, his eyes flashing like the lightning in a thunderstorm.

Under the piercing, liquid silver stare, Harry's blood seemed to thicken. A musical voice drawled through his mind – a recollection, he supposed, from the previous night.  _Would you like me to tell you what it's like to be gay? Or would you like me to_ show _you?_

Harry moaned as a sudden rush of emotion – all of his frustration with Ginny, irritation at Ron for forcing him to stay in the relationship, the smothering guilt of all the deaths he had caused, his lust for the man sitting before him – merged into a heavy arousal that settled in his groin.

"Show me," he gasped, reaching for the Slytherin. Draco froze, staring unblinkingly into Harry's desperate, emerald eyes.

"Pardon?"

"I want you to show me," Harry whispered, emboldened by the way Draco's eyes darkened in a lust that complemented his own. "Show me," he repeated, pressing forwards until he pinned Draco against the back of the couch.

"Potter… What are you doing?" Draco demanded, holding Harry at an arm's length as he narrowed his darkened eyes suspiciously.

"I'm… Experimenting, I think," Harry frowned, pressing insistently against the hand that restrained him. "I think… I want you," he moaned. "Show me."

He watched a small, pink tongue flicker out to moisten thin, perfectly shaped lips and felt his heart quicken in desire as he imagined that tongue dancing elsewhere.

"Yes," Draco whispered huskily, and just like that, the arm that had restrained Harry fell away. His lips pressed against Draco's in a hungry kiss that was too hard, too many teeth, far more an angry brawl than anything remotely tender. "Gods, yes."

* * *

"Draco, what in Merlin's name are you thinking?" Blaise snapped, pacing the Astronomy Tower furiously. Draco sulked, leaning against a telescope with his arms folded across his chest.

"What am I supposed to do?" he retorted scathingly. "What am I supposed to do when the person I lo– When the person I lust after almost constantly just throws himself at me?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. He wasn't fooled by Draco's hasty save – he knew very well that his friend was in love with Potter. His expression softened. Draco deserved some small fragment of happiness in his life, and if Potter could give him that, then what was the problem?

"It's not like Potter had any attachment to me," Draco continued bitterly. "He's bored with the Weaselette. He's just experimenting."

"So that makes it okay?"Blaise cocked a dark eyebrow at the blonde. "It's alright to toy with him and your own emotions as long as it doesn't mean anything to him? Potter's a Gryffindor, Draco. Through and through. It's only their nature to charge into everything heart-first."

"Seemed like he was thinking with his prick more than his heart," Draco murmured. Blaise cuffed him up the back of his head.

"Be serious, Draco. I'm worried. It will tear Harry apart if –"

"I know," Draco frowned. "But don't worry. I'll make sure it never gets there. As long as he's set on experimenting, I'll take what I can." He swallowed tightly, his expression turning distant.

"And if he starts to love you?" Blaise asked with a frown, feeling his heart squeeze for his friend.

"I won't let it get that far," Draco said confidently, but Blaise didn't miss the brief flash of pain in his eyes before the icy shield was back in place. "I'll end it before he starts to love me… I have to."

"And if you miss it? If you miss the signs and he falls in love with you? Or if you become so wrapped up in him that you don't want to let go? What then? You're Slytherin, Draco. If he wants you, you're not going to just be able to pull a Gryffindor and do what's best for him."

Draco sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly with his hands before folding them back across his chest. "I'll deal with that all as it comes," he said softly. "It's none of your concern. I'll handle it."

"None of my concern?" Blaise repeated, his eyes flashing dangerously. "How is this none of my concern? It affects us all – you, me, Pansy. It now affects even Potter. Whether you dragged him into this or he dove in headfirst, he's now in this as much as Pansy or I are. Do you think he'll let you go merely because you shared nothing further than a quick shag-on-the-go? We're all a part of this. It is every bit my concern."

Draco winced and turned away, staring pensively into the sunset. "We didn't shag," he said softly.

"Details," Blaise snapped, throwing his hands in the air in resignation. "Just make sure that Potter doesn't fall for you, alright? I doubt that either of us want to deal with another broken heart because you couldn't keep your prick in your pants."

Draco nodded heavily. "In spite of your crude language, I agree. I won't let Potter get hurt because of me. I –" He closed his lips, effectively swallowing the rest of his sentence, But Blaise already knew what Draco had been going to say.

"You love him," he said softly.

Draco stared back at him defiantly, but his silence was all the confirmation that Blaise needed. He sighed and nodded in wordless acknowledgement to his friend. He supposed that he had known all along.

"Blaise," Draco stuck out a hand as Blaise turned to leave, catching his friend on the sleeve. "Don't tell Pansy," he pleaded.

Blaise sighed. "This is a really bad idea," he said stiffly.

"I know," Draco murmured. "It's a terrible idea, volatile at best. But it's what I want."

"No, Draco. What you want is Harry, not just a shade of what his affections could be. That Gryffindor loves more fiercely and deeply than any other being I've ever known. If I know you half as well as I think I do, you'll never settle for anything less than everything he can give you."

"I know," Draco repeated. "But I'll take what I can get. What other choice do I have? I can't let him go, Blaise."

"And therein lies the problem," Blaise sighed heavily. He searched Draco's eyes, sighing sadly at what he found there. "I hope you know what you're doing, Dray."

As he left, he thought he heard Draco's faint whisper behind him, "I don't have any idea what I'm doing."


	12. Godsend

_"What have you done to me?" Fred asked, his blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. "My brother lost his ear for you. My sister lost her heart for you. I lost my life for you. What more do you want from my family? What more do you want us to lose?"_

_"Nothing," Harry whispered, unable to tear his eyes from Fred's. "I want nothing more from you. I never wanted to hurt any of you. I never wanted you to die for me!" He fisted his hands in his hair in frustration. "Why can't anybody see that?"_

_"Has Harry Potter forgotten Dobby?" the elf whispered, slipping his small hand into Harry's._

_"No, Dobby, never," Harry choked, pulling the elf towards him in a crushing hug. "I'd never forget you."_

_"And what about me, Potter? I gave up everything to keep you safe. Surely you haven't forgotten everything that I did for you, you ungrateful wretch."_

_"No, Snape, please. I remember everything. I owe you everything." Harry turned towards the growing crowd that pressed ever closer. He recognized many faces in the gathering masses – there was Mad-Eye, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, James and Lily, Dumbledore, Bathilda Bagshot, nameless others. The crowd stretched as far as he could see, all pressing in closer, suffocating, reaching out shaking hands to touch him, whisper in his ear. "Please. I owe you all everything. I never wanted any of you to die for me."_

_"But that we did, boy," Mad-Eye growled._

_"I know," Harry whispered, feeling tears etch silvery paths down his cheeks. "I know that you did."_

He awakened, lying still in a tight cocoon of blankets, his face damp from the tears he had shed. "I know you did," he whispered into the room, the darkness permeated only by the sounds of Neville's and Goyle's dueling snores.

Harry sighed deeply and untangled himself from his nest of blankets. It seemed that Draco Juice was, indeed, the only thing that kept the nightmares away. He cast a quiet  _tempus_ , finding the time to be approximately five-thirty in the morning.

He glanced over at Draco's sleeping form and sighed again. Yesterday, he had ruined everything. He had publicly shoved away Ginny, before both Ron and her father. He had thrown himself at Draco and made his attraction to the other boy known. Harry fisted his hand in his sheets. He was straight, for Merlin's sake. It would never happen again. Harry would apologize to Ginny; beg her to take him back. He would never be alone with Malfoy again. He would – no.

He didn't want Ginny. He never wanted to be with her again. He would stay away from her. He would stay away from both of them.

His heart clenched at the thought. He didn't want to stay away from Malfoy. He wanted to hold him and be held by him. He wanted to –

Harry slammed his head against his mattress with a muffled thud. No. There was nothing but a hasty kiss and wank between them. Malfoy was nothing but a spoiled, rich brat who happened to fancy blokes and be completely gorgeous and –

No. Malfoy was nothing. Harry sighed, glancing again at the sleeping Slytherin. He was curled up on his side, facing towards Harry. Draco's face was angelic; there was no trace of the scorn or malice that usually decorated the sharp, artistic angles of his features. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a faint smile, his eyes fluttering under closed lids as he dreamed. A pale, long-fingered hand fisted loosely on the pillow next to his face, and it drew Harry's gaze. He remembered the way that the smooth palm and lightly calloused fingers had stroked over him, soft as silk and confidently firm.

With a frustrated sigh, Harry went to take a cold shower.

The Great Hall was mostly empty when Harry arrived, occupied only by a few scattered first and second years who gawked as he walked past. He sat on a bench at the Gryffindor table and dragged a plate of waffles towards him as the ceiling above tinged pink with the rising sun. His stomach growled its displeasure, and Harry realized that he hadn't been to many meals in the last few days.

He began to eat as students slowly filed into the Hall, rubbing sleep from their eyes and filling plates. Harry was careful to keep his eyes downcast. He didn't want anyone to notice him today. All too late, he remembered his invisibility cloak, safely tucked away in his trunk.

"What the hell are you playing at, Harry?" a familiar voice snarled as Harry was shoved. He looked up tiredly into Ron's furious face. "What the bloody hell? You can't just do that to my sister, Harry. She was just sitting in class – in  _Dad's_  class – and you start shouting and break up with her?" He pushed Harry again. "What the hell are you playing at? She's my sister, Harry!"

Harry's heart sunk and he wordlessly turned back to his breakfast. This was the very reason why he had postponed breaking it off with Ginny for so long. Ron had always been fiercely protective of Ginny and would do anything to keep her safe and happy – and hurt anyone who threatened that. Harry would much rather put up with Ron's claustrophobia-inducing sister than lose Ron because he had broken Ginny's heart.

"Talk to me, Harry!" He seized the collar of Harry's robes and gave him a furious shake.

"Ronald!" Hermione cried as she entered the Great Hall. "Let go of Harry! Don't hurt him!"

"Oh, like he swore he wouldn't hurt my sister?" Ron snarled. "They were happy together. She loved him. They were supposed to end up married!"

Harry rubbed his scar absently, closing his eyes. He was too tired to deal with Ron.

* * *

Across the Great Hall, Blaise watched Draco tense as Weasley continued to shake and yell at Potter.

"Draco," Blaise warned as the blonde began to rise. "Don't get involved. Potter can take care of himself."

"Does it look like Potter's taking care of himself?" Draco snarled, his eyes flashing shards of ice.

Blaise looked at the Gryffindor table, where Potter hadn't moved. He merely rested with his face in his hands while the Weasley snarled angry words to a listless Potter. As he continued to get no response, he drew his fist before laying a blow across Potter's cheek. Draco jerked as if he had been the one hit, while Granger shrieked in surprise and hung onto Weasley's arm, ineffectively trying to restrain him. Why didn't she use her wand, he wondered. Muggles.

"Draco, leave it. You'll only make matters worse. You'll cause a scene. You don't want to be the focus of this, Draco."

"I don't care. Dammit, Blaise, let go of me," Draco snarled, wrenching out of Blaise's grasp.

Blaise watched him stalk towards the Gryffindors with a sigh. Draco was already far too attached to Potter. He hoped very much for Potter's sake that that affection didn't flow both ways. He glanced at the teacher's table, both wishing that a teacher was present and grateful that none were. He wished that Snape were here. Snape had only ever protected both Potter and Draco.

* * *

Harry flinched under Ron's blow. The pain blossomed an angry rose against his cheek, but Harry made no move to quell Ron's fury. Ron had never hit him before, but he deserved every punch. He had hurt Ron's sister, killed Ron's brother. He would take everything that Ron had to throw at him, and it would never be enough.

He saw the second blow fall, but he never felt its impact.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Ron snarled. At the sound of the name, Harry's head rose with a snap and he turned, his face bruised, to see Draco's wand out, pointed at Ron's fist, hanging immobile in the air.

"Enough, Weasley," Draco said, his voice soft and dangerous. "While I always knew that Weasleys have no sense of dignity or how to control themselves in public, you are making quite the spectacle of yourself. I strongly suggest that you leave Potter alone."

"Why do you care?" Ron tried to wrench his fist from the grasp of Draco's spell, to no avail. "What's in it for you if I do?"

Draco smiled angelically. "You don't believe that I would stop you purely out of the goodness of my heart?"

Ron's face contorted in an ugly grimace as he struggled under the restraining spell. "Codswallop, Malfoy. There  _is_  no goodness in your heart."

Draco's smile transformed into a smirk, his silver eyes gleaming with a feral light. "It appears that at this moment, I have much more sense of goodness than you do." He raised a pale brow pointedly at the fist suspended in the air. "And as it happens, Weasel-bee, there is much that I have to gain by stopping you from murdering Potter." Harry flushed as Draco's eyes flickered towards him and he quickly turned away.

The fury in Ron's face softened into confusion while Hermione's eyes widened in dawning comprehension, shifting back and forth between Harry and Draco. "Let me go, Malfoy," Ron snarled.

Draco quirked an amused brow. "Do you really think that I want you to hang around all day? You are free to do as you wish. The spell only prevents you from harming Potter."

"Oh, really?" Ron wrenched his fist from the binding spell and brought it to Malfoy's jaw with a sickening crunch. He turned on his heel and stalked from the Hall without a backwards glance.

"Are – are you alright, Malfoy?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Draco felt his jaw before smirking lightly at her. "I'll be alright, Granger." He nodded towards Harry, "What about him?"

"Harry?" Hermione asked softly, sitting beside him and brushing his hair out of his face. "Don't worry about him – he'll come around. He always does."

Harry snorted softly, but made no response. He felt that he deserved everything that Ron threw at him. Ron had always been fiercely loyal towards Harry, the truest of friends. Harry would take Ron's anger; he knew that Ron would always come back.

"What got the weasel's knickers in a twist?" Draco asked Hermione, who rolled her eyes.

"Harry broke the sacred balance between Ronald's patience with him for dating his sister and his exploding into a nervous wreck when he dumped Ginny in the middle of Muggle Studies yesterday."

Draco looked mildly impressed, his eyes glittering with a delighted glow. "Did he now?" he smirked before his frown came back. "Potter?" he asked softly. "Are you alright?"

Harry groaned, rubbing his scar. He had promised himself that he would stay away from Malfoy; what had happened between them yesterday could never happen again. But how could he stay away when Malfoy decided to play the Gryffindor and concerned friend, leaping to his rescue and asking how he was as if he cared?

"Potter?" Draco repeated, his silky voice thick with worry.

"Go away, Malfoy."  _G'way Maufloy_ , his mind whispered. There came no response, and the next time he turned around, Draco was gone. Harry wondered why his heart sunk at the thought of how easily Malfoy had left him.

Hermione bit her lip, a crease between her eyebrows. "Harry, you and Malfoy –"

"I don't want to hear it," Harry snapped. He was instantly contrite when he saw the wounded look in Hermione's brown eyes. Why couldn't he stop hurting people?

"Look, Herm, I'm sorry. I just –"

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said quickly. "You've been really upset lately – Don't give me that look! – I just think that you should be with people who make you happy. Ginny didn't, and I'll help Ron to see that. And –" she spoke her next words so softly that Harry had to strain to hear her "– Malfoy does."

Harry blinked at her, uncertain whether he had heard correctly. Hermione had already turned away, glancing around the now filled Hall. Harry glanced up at the Slytherin table, directly into stormy grey eyes that unflinchingly met his own.

"Eat your waffle, Harry," Hermione prodded gently. "You haven't eaten properly in days. And here –" she dug in her bag, pulling out a small, black jar. "It's the cream that Fred and George gave me after their blasted telescope punched me in the eye. I think that it will work to get rid of the bruising."

"Thanks," he smiled softly as Hermione applied the cream to his face. She was truly a godsend. "Hermione," he frowned as a new thought struck him. "Do you think, what Luna said –" he paused and tried again. "Do you think that Adulating Bombats are real?"

Hermione giggled, hiding her grin behind her hand. "Don't be silly, Harry. You can't honestly believe that any of the creatures she talks about are real."

The hall began to empty, and Hermione gently took Harry's hand. "Come on, Harry. We should get to Potions." He followed her from the Great Hall, but he wasn't convinced. If Adulating Bombats weren't real, then why did he have such a strong reaction to Malfoy's presence?


	13. Parallels

"Careful, Potter," Draco caught Harry's wrist as he made to add the diced octopus suctions into the bubbling Veritaserum that they had been brewing for several class periods now. Harry felt a white hot fire rush up his arm and he quickly jerked out of Malfoy's grasp. He felt his face heat. This was ridiculous. How was he supposed to be able to avoid Malfoy when he was stuck sitting next to him in both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes? He felt a twinge of regret as Draco's almost friendly expression shut down.

"Stir it thrice counter-clockwise before you add the suctions or else the remnants of venom in them will react with the powdered doxy teeth. You need to spread out the intensity of the doxy teeth first, so that it doesn't all congeal in one place."

"Right," Harry said quickly, hastening to do as Draco had suggested.

The Slytherin had been surprisingly civil to Harry in every class that they shared. It was only when Harry had pulled away that a trace of the old animosity could be found in his steely eyes.

Three weeks had passed since that day in the Great Hall, and every moment that he had spent with Draco seemed to be filled with an unspeakable tension. He had been careful to attend all meals and avoid the Astronomy Tower – as a result of the loss of Draco Juice in his diet, the nightmares had returned full force.

Although Ron didn't necessarily believe Harry's version of the events involving his innocent little sister, Ron had forgiven him for hurting Ginny weeks earlier and had taken to dutifully waking him every night when his screaming and sobbing started. While none of them save Theodore Nott and Ernie MacMillan had complained, the eighth-year boys seemed to wander the school in an exhausted haze. Along with Harry's nightmares came a sleep shortage for them all.

Harry knew that every night, Draco slipped out to the Astronomy Tower to indulge in the alcohol that delivered him from his own dreams. He knew that he would be welcome to join the Slytherin in his evening ritual, and a part of him longed to. A part of him desperately craved those few stolen hours that passed in a drunken whirl of mutually shed boundaries and carefree banter. But he was terrified that, with the added inhibition of the powerful firewhiskey, he would give in to his steadily growing desires for the blonde.

Every moment that Harry spent with Draco became a fierce battle of wills as Harry both hungered for and feared stretching out a hand to Draco, not knowing that Draco coveted the same closeness. And so, every day they continued working on their potion in a tense silence filled only by Draco's occasional correction of Harry's technique and Slughorn's delighted cooing at their work.

* * *

Blaise cocked a dark brow at Hermione's worried frown. "What's got your wand in a knot, Granger?"

Hermione glanced at him in surprise for a moment before smiling slightly. Blaise had discovered that he rather liked Hermione – once he got past the bushy hair, large teeth, and know-it-all personality, he had found that his lab partner possessed a keen mind and delightful sense of loyalty and humor. Blaise absently thought that he would have no qualms going straight for a girl like Granger.

"I'm just worried about Harry," she said with a self-depreciating shrug. "He's withdrawn into himself a lot recently, and from what Ron tells me, his dreams are getting worse and worse." She paused and Blaise nodded in agreement.

"That they are, from the sounds of his screams," he said somberly.

"The only times that Harry even seems remotely alive, really, are all when he's with Malfoy." She gestured to where Potter and Draco were working together, both of their heads bent over their cauldron. Potter's cheeks, Blaise noticed, were indeed more colored and alive than Blaise recalled seeing for a long time. He nodded for Hermione to continue, his stomach sinking as he dreaded the words that she might say next.

"I think that Harry is gay," Hermione said softly as she added Monarch butterfly wings to the potion. "Or at least bisexual." She looked up and met his eyes, her lower lip clenched beneath her large front teeth. "I think that maybe he's in love with Malfoy."

Blaise's hands shook as he measured out a spoonful of spring rain from the night of a full moon. He hoped that Granger didn't notice. But, as his luck would have it, Hermione's eyes narrowed as she looked at his hands.

"Blaise?" she stilled his hand with her own, her brown eyes heavy with concern for both him and her friend.

"He can't love Draco," Blaise whispered shakily.

Hermione's eyebrows knit together. "You fancy him?" she asked.

Blaise laughed. "Hardly. A dark, strapping bloke like Potter?" he shook his head. "No, Granger, I prefer the light-toned, wiry ones."

"You love Draco, then?"

Again, Blaise shook his head. "No. Draco and I once were, it's true, but not for years. Slytherins aren't usually considered to be the most loyal of people, but we're steadfast on interhouse loyalty. I would do anything to keep Draco safe, and he would do the same for me."

Hermione frowned. "Then why can Harry not love Malfoy?" she asked.

But for the third time, Blaise only shook his head. "I can't betray his trust, Granger. Surely you understand. Draco feels like the less people who know the better."

"But… you disagree?" Hermione pressed.

Blaise sighed deeply. "Yes, I disagree. I feel that the more people who know, the easier it will be for us all." He raised a hand to stop Hermione as she opened her mouth to speak again. "But I will not go against Draco's wishes. It is his choice and no one else's."

Hermione ran a hand through her bushy hair as she stirred the potion with her free hand. "This seems very similar to sixth year, when only a select few knew what was going on with Malfoy."

Blaise's mouth quirked at the hidden irony of her words. "You could say that it is very similar, yes. They are parallels in a way, I suppose."

Hermione looked at Blaise sharply. "Does this have anything to do with Malfoy's parents, by any chance?"

Blaise's expression turned stony to hide his surprise. "What do you know about Draco's parents?"

Hermione blinked at the sudden ice in Blaise's tone. "Not a lot, really, nothing that occurred after the trial."

Blaise narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at Hermione, debating how much to tell her without breaking his promise to Draco. Really, Granger could be useful if she knew what was going on. She could possibly help to dissuade Potter from establishing relations with Draco. "If I were wondering what was going on," he spoke slowly, taking great care in choosing his wording, "I would start there and find out exactly what happened to his parents."

Hermione's face relaxed and she nodded as she processed all that Blaise had told her. She accepted the vial of spring rain that Blaise handed to her and added it to the potion. They continued the lesson in silence, each lost in their own contemplations.

* * *

 

As Harry added the final ingredient – concentrated blood of a young female phoenix – to the potion, it turned the precise shade of cool blue described in the Potions text.

"Oh, well done, Harry m'boy! Well done!" Slughorn gushed, peering into their cauldron. "See here, Mr. Malfoy, you had no reason to doubt Harry's potions prowess. Gets his talent from his mother, that one does!"

Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry behind Slughorn's back but didn't speak. His lips quirked in a small smirk, and Harry felt a pleasant trill run through his blood. Draco had changed so much. There had been a time when the Slytherin would have been angry and offended by Slughorn's praise to Potter for the skill that had been Draco's, but now he merely seemed amused.

Again, Harry recalled Ginny's tears in the Muggle Studies room versus the calm acceptance at Dumbledore's funeral. Since the war, they had all changed so much.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said with an answering smirk at Draco. He knew better than to deny his potions skill in front of Slughorn. Enchanting modesty, Slughorn had called it the last several times that he had tried.

He left the classroom in high spirits, almost excited for their next Potions class, when they would begin the testing of their Veritaserum on each other after it had simmered to its final, colorless and odorless stage. He was nervous about what questions that Draco might ask him, yet eager to ask Draco his own questions. He frowned in thought. There must be guidelines of questions that they could ask, mustn't there? Surely they wouldn't be allowed to simply ask each other anything. He supposed that he would find out soon.


	14. When The Night Is Darkest

_"We give our lives for you and this is how you repay us? Hiding in your room, lusting after a boy while swearing that you're not homosexual? It's despicable, Potter." Snape sneered down at Harry, his lip curling with disgust. "We die so that you might live a lie? Despicable, utterly despicable." Snape advanced upon Harry, his black eyes flashing with malice. "We die so that you can make your life a joke? Where do you get off on that, you sick, sick boy? What makes it worth your while? You spend every day pretending that you are someone that you're not. Is that what we gave our lives for? So that you could lie to yourself, pretend that everything is wonderful in the perfect, straight Harry Potter's world?"_

"Potter."

_"No," Harry shook his head, tremors wracking his frame. "No, I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to –"_

_"Foolish child!" Snape snarled viciously, spittle flying from his mouth to land on Harry's face. "Of course you never meant for any of this to happen. Of course you never meant for any of us to die. Of course the famous, insolent Harry Potter never meant to do anything. He just bumbles around aimlessly in a dying world, destroying the lives and dignity of himself and others in an attempt at self betterment and the bitterest denial of any fragment of common sense. Of course the famous, arrogant Harry Potter never meant to break anyone's heart or shatter anyone's lives even though so many laid down their lives, so willingly, that he might continue to frolic in a stagnant pool of denial."_

"Potter."

_"Please," Harry whispered, backing away from his advancing professor. "Please, I never wanted you to die. I never wanted you to give away your lives for me. I never wanted to –"_

"Potter!"

Harry jerked awake, his startled cry strangled by the pale, long-fingered hand that clamped over his mouth. Harry looked up wide eyed into bright silver orbs, luminous on a pale face that seemed to glow in the darkness.

Draco held out a bottle of amber alcohol towards Harry. "Walk with me, Potter?" he asked softly.

Harry took a deep breath, his gaze locked on the tantalizing bottle that seemed to dangle right before his eyes. While he might be able to resist the seduction of the hard liquor, he couldn't ignore the pull of freedom from his nightmares, hanging temptingly right before his face. He nodded wordlessly to Draco and pulled on his jacket and shoes.

The sky as seen from the Astronomy Tower was clear and cloudless. The stars shone brilliantly, pinpricks of light on a blanket of black. Draco took a seat against one wall and gestured for Harry to join him. He uncapped the bottle and took a sip before passing it to Harry.

"Why?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow pointedly at the alcohol.

Draco shrugged. "I'm tired. It's impossible to sleep with you thrashing about and yelling at night. It's worse than Goyle's snores. The firewhiskey helps." He smirked at Harry. "Don't think I'm doing this for you, I'll have you know that my motives are entirely selfish."

Harry rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched in an involuntary smile at the gently teasing tone in Draco's voice. He took a sip of the alcohol and immediately felt the beginnings of relaxation that accompanied the firewhiskey's unique burn.

"Your dreams are getting worse," Draco said softly.

It wasn't a question, but Harry answered anyways. "Yes. They're getting worse." He laughed dryly. "I can see them all around me – all the people who I let die, all the people who gave their lives for me, all the people who I killed. I can't get away from them." He shuddered, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as he took another sip of the sweet, scalding liquor. "They follow me and I can't escape from them."

"Do they speak?" Draco asked, taking a drink of the firewhiskey before handing it back to Harry.

"All the time," Harry's gaze grew distant, his mind watching in anguish as Snape bore down upon him. "They blame me for their deaths. They don't think that I deserve to live in their stead, and all around me the darkness grows ever stronger, suffocating me in its mindless horror. Their horror at the way that I'm living my life." He turned beseeching eyes upon Draco. "Do you think that I deserve to live, after everything I did to them? After all the people I murdered, all the blood on my hands, all the screams that ring through my ears? Do you think that I deserve to live?"

Draco snorted softly. "Don't be daft, Potter," he drawled. "Do you think that you would have an easier go of it if you ended the life that they died to protect? Do you even really think that they all died for you?" He shook his head in disbelief. "It was a war, Potter. Casualties happen. Lives are lost, and the people who lose their lives lose them for the sake of their cause, not for the sole survival of their figurehead." He paused to take a swig of the whiskey Harry handed to him. "If they died for you, it was only because you were their hope. They felt that, because of some stupid prophecy, you were their only hope for survival against the Dark Lord. And that survival was precisely what you gave them, Potter.

"You gave them a chance at a new life for their families. You freed them from a force that you had no choice but to stop. You had no choice, Potter. Those people who died, they all had a choice. They did not choose to die solely for you; they chose to die for a safer future. If you forget that, you're giving up everything that they died to give you. If you forget that, it is an insult to their memories. They chose their fate."

Harry sighed, rubbing his scar against the threatening headache. "In my dreams they always seem so angry – Snape, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, Remus, Sirius, Tonks, Fred, Dobby – everything always seems so dark and hopeless." He threw back his head to take a large gulp of Draco Juice that burned as it trekked a path down his throat.

Draco smiled, a small twitch of his lips that didn't reach his sad, grey eyes. "My father once said that when the night is darkest, it is then that the stars shine the brightest. You just have to learn how to see them."

Harry glanced up at the change of tone in Draco's voice. "What happened to your father?" he whispered, feeling as if a loud sound might startle Draco into running away.

"Don't you read the Prophet, Potter?" Draco asked dryly. "He was to be given to the dementors." He lifted the firewhiskey to his lips. "He died before he could receive the Kiss, however. That happened with many Death Eaters – those who were to be given to the dementors either died before the dementors could try or survived long enough to have their souls ripped from them and then died anyways. Those who weren't given to the dementors died quickly in Azkaban anyways. They all were weakened from the war and the dementors' hunger."

"And… your mum?" Harry asked, even quieter.

"She's in St. Mungo's, Janus Thickey Ward," Draco said, his eyes distant. "After dad died, she couldn't handle it. The Healers are watching her day and night, but they don't yet know if she'll recover or not. She was always so strong."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, taking another drink from the bottle. "I didn't know."

Draco shrugged. "Yes, well, you can't have everything, can you?" he asked bitterly.

Harry snorted humorlessly. "What a pair we make."

"Cheers, Potter," Draco lifted the bottle in a toast before handing it to Harry so that he could do the same.

They finished the bottle of firewhiskey and Draco fished another out from behind a telescope.


	15. One Hell of a Hangover

"Oh bloody hell," Harry moaned as he awakened. His head simultaneously spun and pounded out a throbbing rhythm. His stomach rolled. "Bloody hell," he said again, curling into himself.

It was a hangover like nothing Harry had ever experienced before. His head screeched its displeasure constantly as his stomach rebelled, heaving repeatedly against the offending alcohol that still flowed in his blood. His entire body ached from his head to his toes, a sharp, burning sensation, as if he were on fire even though there were no flames.

"Oh my bloody fucking hell, I'm dying!" he gasped melodramatically, curling tightly into a ball.

"Potter, in Merlin's name, shut up." Harry turned to see Draco staring at him, closer than he would have expected, his eyes darkened in a pained, bloodshot haze. Draco's face was abnormally pale, a dire contrast to his darkened eyes, and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Tendrils of feather-soft blonde hair clung to his forehead and his entire body trembled. In short, Draco Malfoy looked as bad as Harry felt.

"You've poisoned me," Harry accused, unable to keep the whine out of his voice.

"Oh yes," Draco sneered. "I poisoned the famous Harry Potter – the last Death Eater's final tribute to the Dark Lord." He rolled his eyes before wincing as the action made the room spin. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at his head with both hands while he waited for the dizzying motion and accompanying relentless pound to dwindle. "When did brave Harry Potter, bane of the Dark Lord, become such a drama queen? Don't be ridiculous, Potter, why on earth would I intentionally do this to myself?"

Harry groaned and dug his fist into his scar as if the action could stop the throbbing behind his skull. "So help me, Malfoy, I will kill you for this."

"Potter, for the love of butterbeer, will you just shut  _up_?"

Harry sighed, falling silent. Every inch of him ached and the repeated yelling at Malfoy wasn't helping any bit. What wouldn't he give for a bottle of that foul, pink, wonderful Hangover Remedy that Parkinson carried around.

With sudden inspiration, Harry's eyes snapped open. "Kreacher!" he hissed.

"Potter," Draco growled, pinching the bridge of his nose without opening his eyes, "fine, I'm a creature. But  _please_  just shut –  _oomph_!" Grey eyes flew open in shock before narrowing in disgust at the filthy creature perched upon his chest. "What the  _hell_ –"

"Kreacher," Harry cut in, sighing with relief, "I need you to get the Hangover Remedy from Parkinson's –"

"From my trunks," Malfoy interrupted. "And the pain-relieving potion."

"From Malfoy's trunks, then," Harry amended. "Bring both potions."

"Of course, Master Harry. Master Draco," the elf bowed to them both before Disapparating with a sharp crack that had both of the boys cringing.

"There might just be a brain in that thick skull after all, Potter," Draco massaged his temples.

"Of course there is, Malfoy," Harry snapped, closing his eyes tightly against the fierce ache behind his eyes. "And right now it's making itself known rather loudly. But thank you for the recognition."

A loud pop signified Kreacher's return and the elf pressed a pink bottle into Harry's hand. He took a large gulp from the bottle and immediately felt the pressure in his head lessen, although it did not completely vanish. The nausea that churned in his stomach and the pained aches covering his body also dissipated. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and handed the Hangover Remedy to Draco. Kreacher then gave Harry the pain-relieving potion and the aching of his body disappeared. The pounding headache and rolling nausea did not cease, but they remained at a tolerable level, even as Kreacher again Disapparated loudly.

Harry sat up, closing his eyes against the sudden spinning of the room and accompanying momentary blackness. 

"Bloody hell," Harry snorted as Draco sat up as well. The Slytherin's face was still a deathly pale and covered with a light coat of sweat, but his eyes had regained their usual captivatingly silver glow. "So that's what happens if you don't take the Hangover potion right after Draco Juice?"

"You could say that," Draco smirked tiredly. "But hey – it took away the dreams, did it not?"

Harry rolled his eyes, pleased when the room stayed in one place like a proper room should. "That it did. What in Merlin's name inspired you to make that stuff?"

Draco quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really, Potter? As if the dreams weren't excuse enough?" he shook his silver head. "At first, early in the war, a Dreamless Sleep potion was more than enough. It did what it was supposed to do – it allowed me to sleep and it took the nightmares away.

"But with time, the dreams only grew worse. The Dreamless Sleep was no longer strong enough to contain them – a festering wound, sealed by only a Muggle band-aid, if you will. All that the Dreamless Sleep served to do was trap me within my nightmares, unable to awaken until hours later, when the potion finally wore off. Is that not enough excuse to mix the alcohol?" He shook his head again as the color began to reenter his cheeks.

"As it is, I'm probably Ogden's best customer. I buy a lot of firewhiskey and enhance it before adding a mixture of sugars and spices and certain mystery flavors," he winked at Harry, "to give it a bit of a kick. The result?" he held out his arms impressively. "A super-buzz, freedom from dreams, and one hell of a hangover."

"And… the Remedy?" Harry asked softly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, I discovered pretty quickly that my brand of firewhiskey packs a rather strong punch and the tiniest amount can pack a hangover from hell, which you've just had the pleasure of experiencing," he smirked. "The standard Hangover Remedy had zero effect on the altered firewhiskey, so I modified it." He shrugged. "It's still not perfect – you have to take it immediately after consumption of the firewhiskey for full potency."

"Obviously," Harry muttered, massaging his still-aching forehead.

Draco tossed him an amused smirk. "Quite."

Harry sighed, lying down on the cold stone floor. "Ron. He's going to flip when he can't find me."

Draco rolled his eyes again. "Blaise will know where I am immediately – he will assume that you are with me. He is either about to charge through that door like an angry manticore and demand that we get our arses down to breakfast, or he will feed Weasley and Granger some cock and bull story about you rushing to the library to finish Williamson's essay in a sudden spurt of conscience."

"That's ridiculous," Harry snorted.

"Of course it is," Draco agreed. "Everyone knows that Williamson wouldn't give a damn if you did any work at all, so long as you showed up to class and flashed her a smile. Or maybe something else…" He shook his head quickly as if to clear it. "But anyways… Weasley might not buy the story, but Granger will eat it up like cat food. I heard somewhere that she's been rather partial to it since second year," he grinned at Harry.

Harry felt something in his chest lurch at the unfamiliar expression on Draco's handsome features.  _Malfoxy_. He grinned back, not sure if it was in response to his own thoughts, the pleasant fluttering in his chest, or the reference to Hermione's polyjuice mishap with the cat hair. Perhaps it was a combination of all. Harry was discovering that he rather enjoyed being in Malfoy's presence. The Slytherin was quick-witted, fun and charming, with just enough bite to allude to Harry's previous years of knowledge of him. Moments were never dull with Draco, for sure.

"So… Breakfast?" Draco asked.

Harry's stomach rolled at the thought of food. "Oh no, definitely not."

Draco smirked in amusement. "You get used to the feeling after a while. So if no breakfast, what would you rather do? Skive off of class and remain up here all day? Go for a fly around the Quidditch pitch?" His smirk turned challenging. "Or would the perfect little Golden Boy prefer to go to class where he can sit with his miniature fan club and the ever eloquent Weaselette?"

Harry's smile morphed into a scowl. "Leave Ginny out of it," he said darkly.

Draco's eyes flashed ice before returning quickly to his expression of nonchalance. "Not still hung up on the she-weasel, are you, Potter? Do you really think that she can meet your needs?"

"She did before, why can't she again?" Harry grumbled, turning away from Draco to glance across the sun-soaked Hogwarts grounds. He missed the brief flash of pain that darkened Draco's eyes to slate, just as Draco missed the sarcastic lilt to Harry's voice.

"Before, you were focused on the Dark Lord. But now, when it's just you and her, can she hope to be enough? Can she satisfy your every dark desire, your lust for the thrill of danger?"

Harry turned to Draco in surprise. "Malfoy, what –" the rest of his sentence was lost in the press of Draco's lips against his and Harry quickly lost his train of thought. Draco, for his part, lost track of every reason why he shouldn't do this when he felt Harry's tongue trace his lower lip curiously, seeking the entrance that he granted.

This kiss was nothing like their first. This was nothing but a gentle press of lips and the curious slide of questioning tongues. And yet, it was everything. Harry melted into the kiss, his hands reaching up to trace the line of Draco's jaw as Draco's hands fisted into his own ebony curls. Draco was taller than Harry, an odd sensation as Harry had only ever kissed Cho and Ginny, who had both been shorter than him. The kiss tasted of stale, sweet whiskey and Draco, with just a hint of sour morning breath, and Harry knew that he would be perfectly content if he never again tasted anything else.


	16. The Choice Is Up To You

Blaise yawned and stretched sleepily, blinking in the soft green light that filled his bed with a musky haze through the heavy, Slytherin green curtains. Last night he had slept well for the first time in weeks. Perhaps Potter was finally getting over his nightmares.

He drew open his curtains with a lazy flick of his wand and turned to exchange a satisfied grin with Draco. He knew that while his friend had been drinking nightly to chase away his own nightmares, the alcohol did nothing to block out the whimpers and muffled screams from Potter's tormented dreams.

Blaise frowned. Why was Draco's bed empty? He narrowed his eyes and glanced around the room. None of his dorm mates had yet awakened. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Blaise crawled out of his bed and tiptoed across the room to Potter's. The Gryffindor red curtains had been opened on one side, only partially veiling the empty bed.

"Dammit," Blaise hissed a curse under his breath. It had been so quiet last night, not because Potter had gotten a break from his dreams, but because Potter hadn't even slept in the dorms. Not for the entire night, at any rate. "Dammit, Draco!"

He was halfway to the girls' dorms to fetch Pansy when he froze. Draco had made him promise not to inform Pansy of his – involvement – with Potter. But surely Pansy could help Draco to see reason better than he could? Blaise hesitated, shifting from foot to foot in indecision. He stared longingly at the lone door, all that separated him from the girls' dorm and Pansy's cool intellect. She would surely know what to do in this situation, but Draco…

Blaise drew himself up and turned away to leave the South Tower. Hufflepuffs might be known for their loyalty, for they had nothing else. But Slytherin loyalty extended much deeper, an immovable rock verses an ever-changing tree, and Blaise's loyalty was to Draco. He would not betray him, not for anything.

He met no teachers or prefects on the way to the Astronomy Tower and nodded a respectful greeting to the Bloody Baron. His path was unhindered by inquisitive souls as he hurried along, fighting the panic that bubbled up in his throat with each step. Oh please let Draco not have done anything stupid. Please, please, please let Draco not have done anything stupid…

Bollocks.

The mental pleas were replaced with a mournful sigh as Blaise entered the Astronomy Tower, only to see Draco and Potter locked in a kiss, oblivious to anything but each other. Blaise felt his shoulders slump under what felt like the weight of the world. What did Draco think that he was doing? His friend would never forgive himself if his actions led to him hurting Potter. And Potter would be crushed, without a doubt, when he learned the truth.

Blaise quietly left the room and sank down onto the cold stone steps, wrapping his arms around himself in despair. Surely Draco knew what he was doing? He shivered with dread as he recalled the words Draco had spoken, only a few weeks ago.  _But don't worry. I'll make sure it never gets there. As long as he's set on experimenting, I'll take what I can... I won't let it get that far. I'll end it before he starts to love me… I have to._

"Draco," he murmured quietly, closing his eyes against the shivering fear that rose inside of him. "I really hope you know what you are doing."

Blaise was torn. He knew that Draco, perhaps more than anybody he knew, deserved some small fragment of happiness in his life. If Potter could give him that piece of joy, the hell if he was going to take that away from him. Blaise knew that, with a Gryffindor heart, Potter would adore Draco, tending to his every whim and fancy and loving him endlessly. Merlin knew that Draco deserved as much. But if – no –  _when_  Potter was hurt by Draco, Draco would be in utter misery. Draco had loved Potter far too deeply for far too long to be able to let go of him now.

Blaise heaved a frustrated sigh, burrowing his forehead into his knees. Why could nothing ever be simple? Yet, he figured, it was Draco's choice. A choice Draco had made long ago. Blaise would respect Draco's decision and hope for the best. And, when Potter learned the truth, he would make dammed sure that the Weasley and Granger were there for him. He fervently hoped that Granger would soon discover what was happening. She would be a great ally and maybe, just maybe, she would be able to convince Potter that loving Draco was a very bad idea indeed.

* * *

 

Harry shivered, breathing hard as Draco broke the kiss, drawing back to stare at him with silver eyes that burned with almost possessive warmth and darkened with desire. They cleared suddenly as Draco schooled his face back to his normal, disdainful nonchalance.

"Potter," he said with an indifferent nod before turning to leave the Tower.

Harry's head whirled for quite a different reason than his hangover. "Malfoy, what –"

Draco spun back to face him, a sneer upon his elegant features. "What do you want, Potter?" he snarled. Harry drew back, stung by the sudden malice in Draco's expression and voice. "Thanks for the snog, now I should really be going," he drawled sarcastically before strutting out of the Tower.

Harry froze, staring at the open Tower door as he watched Draco's blonde head disappear from view. He moaned in frustration, sinking to the floor and rubbing his scar agitatedly. What the hell was Malfoy playing at? The sneaky, Slytherin bastard. Harry sighed deeply, trying to convince himself that the hollow ache he felt in his chest was humiliation. Embarrassment that he had allowed Malfoy to use him so, to break down his walls, see through his weaknesses.

Yet, he knew that was a lie. When Malfoy had kissed him… it had been incredible. Kissing Ginny had certainly never felt like  _that_. With Ginny, there wasn't half the fire, half the raw emotion, half the pure  _want_  that had raced through his bloodstream, tingling every nerve in his body with its intoxicating thrill. And then to have Malfoy just turn away, as if it had been absolutely nothing to him? _Thanks for the snog._

Harry threw his fist into the wall with a frustrated yell, feeling refreshed from the dull pain that spread from his knuckles, calming him like a cup of tea on a cold winter day. That slick  _git_. Harry was fucked if he was going to show Malfoy that he gave a damn about anything that that slimy arsehole did.

* * *

 

Blaise looked up, startled as Draco stormed into view, an agonized glint in his steely eyes. "Draco?" Blaise reached for him hesitantly, but Draco pulled away. His breath caught at the pained look in Draco's eyes as he silently begged Blaise not to say anything. Blaise's heart ached for his friend and he longed to pull him into his embrace. He wordlessly followed the blonde out of the Astronomy Tower and into the nearest empty classroom.

Draco immediately collapsed against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. "I fucked up, Blaise," he moaned. "I fucked up so bad."

"I know," Blaise whispered, coming to sit beside his friend. Never before had Blaise seen the ever-proud Draco so close to breaking.

"I kissed him," Draco forged on. "He was just standing there and I  _kissed_ him. And he kissed me back." He snorted humorlessly. "The look in his eyes… it was like he wanted to kiss me again. It was like he wanted  _me_. And all I could think was, why now?" Draco sighed deeply, a heartfelt sound that made Blaise's heart ache in sympathy for his friend.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Blaise asked cautiously.

Draco's head snapped up to stare incredulously at him. "What?"

Blaise furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "Is it such a bad thing that he wants you? You've wanted no one but him for years and now he wants you, too. Is that so bad?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "When was the first time that I told Blaise Zabini that I loved him?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You never did, you poof. Yes, I am Blaise. No, I have not gone bonkers. I just think that a relationship with Potter could be good for you. He'll love you more than anyone else could, and you deserve a bit of happiness after all these years, don't you?"

Draco rested his chin upon his knees. "I deserve everything I've gotten."

Blaise rolled his eyes again. "Bollocks. Everything that you did, you did to protect your family."

"Fat lot of good that's doing them now."

Blaise sighed impatiently. "Quit being so melodramatic. Now do you love Potter, or do you not?"

Silver eyes pierced him in an annoyed glare. "You know I do."

"Well then you had sure as hell better go out and get him before someone else does. Savior's pretty hot on the market at the moment."

"And when he finds out?" Draco asked through narrowed eyes.

"And using him like you have been is so much better?" Blaise countered.

Draco sighed, rubbing his face between his hands. "The truth will kill him."

"We'll deal with that as it comes, like you said yourself. The choice is up to you."

"And if I make the wrong one?" Draco asked wearily.

"Then we'll deal with that, too."


	17. Only A Malfoy

Harry sighed as he tried to focus on whatever Professor Williamson had been saying. How could anyone pay attention in class with the god of beauty incarnate sitting beside him, as far away as the small table would allow, a look of icy indifference upon his chiseled features as he listened attentively to the Defense lecture, jotting down the occasional note.

It was infuriating. Malfoy hadn't said one word to him or even looked at him since he had kissed Harry in the Astronomy Tower the previous day. Harry frowned. Had he done something wrong? Made some unconscious move towards the blonde and crossed some invisible boundary? Should he apologize? What did he have to apologize for? Malfoy had kissed  _him_ , for Merlin's sake. Had Malfoy just decided that he really wasn't interested? Why would he have kissed him if he wasn't interested? And if he was interested before the kiss… was his kissing really that bad?

Harry snuck another glance at the Slytherin, whose gaze hadn't wavered from Williamson. He felt a sharp stab of annoyance. How could Malfoy just ignore him like that, as if nothing had happened? His stomach sank as a new though struck him. Perhaps Malfoy  _wished_  that nothing had happened. Malfoy probably regretted the kiss.

And why shouldn't he? It never should have happened. Harry was straight, bugger it all to hell! He didn't give a rat's arse what Malfoy thought. He didn't. He didn't, he didn't, he didn't.

He did.

Harry suppressed a heavy sigh, rubbing at his scar anxiously. He did care what Malfoy thought. Because, straight or not, Malfoy had somehow become everything to him since that stolen kiss, perhaps even long before that. Somehow, Malfoy had managed to waltz into his heart, carefree and smirking, to steal away Harry's breath and every trace of rational thought. Somehow, in a few mere weeks, Malfoy had come to mean more to him than Ginny ever had over the past three years of their relationship.

He absently traced a finger along the small scar on his elbow. If this was all because of an Adulating Bombat, he was going to be furious.

And if it wasn't? Well, then he was screwed. But until he figured out what the hell Malfoy was thinking, Harry wouldn't react. He would just sit here and think about anything. Anything, that is, other than the lustful light that had shone through Malfoy's darkened silver eyes, the pink moistness of his surprisingly soft lips. Anything other than the delicious moan Malfoy had made when Harry pushed his tongue into the blonde's willing mouth. Anything other than the intoxicating taste of him. Anything other than how he had never before been so excited by a simple kiss.

Nope, Harry was definitely not thinking about any of that. Not one bit, no sir, not at all.

Liar.

Harry again glanced at Draco. If he hadn't known that the Slytherin was gay, he would have guessed that he was just as enthralled in the curvy professor as any other male in the room.

* * *

 

Blaise smirked in satisfaction as he watched his best friend. To the casual observer, Draco appeared every bit the attentive student, sitting with his back straight, his eyes clear and focused, taking the occasional note on the parchment that lay on the desk before him. But Blaise knew him far better than the casual observer did.

Blaise was possibly the only person alive who knew Draco well enough to spot the slight slackness in his jaw, a miniscule imperfection that one wouldn't notice unless they knew to look for it. That minor relaxation in his posture told Blaise everything – Draco wasn't listening to a single word that Professor Williamson said.

With a glance at the parchment in front of the blonde, a wide grin slowly unfurled upon Blaise's face. He doubted very much whether even Draco was aware that he had drawn six pairs of piercing emerald eyes. He dipped his quill in his ink to start on the seventh.

Yes, his friend was truly and completely smitten. Blaise smirked again. Draco Malfoy. Who would have thought?

Blaise snuck a small glance a Pansy, seated next to him. She too was watching Draco, a thin line of suspicion between her dark brows. Blaise wondered how much she had already guessed about Draco's shaky relationship with Potter. He flicked his eyes at the empty seat beside Weasley. Weasley had told Blaise before the lesson that Granger would possibly be spending all class in the library, although he didn't know what she was looking up. Blaise hoped that Granger was working on his information and looking up what had happened to Draco's parents. Granger was the brightest witch in their year, as much as Blaise was loath to admit, and he was certain that, with a little prod in the right direction, Granger would easily discover what was going on with Draco and help protect Potter in the aftermath.

"Harry," Williamson purred. At the sound of the name, more than half the class suddenly jerked into attentiveness, staring at the professor with a renewed interest. Williamson's lust for Potter had become a great sort of entertainment for the seventh and eighth year Defense class.

"Professor Williamson?" Potter blinked owlishly at her.

"You were drooling," she smiled indulgently at him.

Potter flushed. "My – my apologies, Professor. I was – Er… I was captivated by your beauty… or something," he floundered. Blaise saw Draco toss Potter an amused smirk.

Williamson beamed. "Quite alright, Harry. It's good to know that I can still entrance the dashing young heroes." She winked at him and swept her long red hair over her shoulder, oblivious to the twin murderous scowls she was receiving from Draco and the Weaselette. Potter flushed deeper, sinking down in his seat.

Blaise wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when he saw the glint enter Draco's eyes. He knew that the blonde had always been rather possessive and Williamson's open favoritism towards Potter irritated him to no end. He settled for a lopsided smile and shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair to watch the show.

"Professor," Draco drawled with best sneer. All eyes shot towards him in surprise. Draco hardly ever spoke in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Might I remind you that you are currently in a classroom full of students who don't appreciate watching their professor shamelessly flash her tits at a fellow student? Nor does that student seem to be enjoying the attention." He lifted an eyebrow at Williamson, who was doing a very accurate impression of a fish. "Might I just  _suggest_  that you refrain from whoring yourself out to the students at every chance you get?"

"Mr. – Mr. Malfoy!" Williamson stammered. "How  _dare_  you suggest – How dare you!" She drew herself up to her full height, her mahogany hair tumbling down her shoulders. "That was entirely uncalled for, Mr. Malfoy; I can't  _believe_  that a student would presume to –"

"Professor, if you really can't believe that, perhaps you really are as stupid as you look. A rather impressive feat, I salute you."

Blaise groaned, resting his head on his desk.

Williamson's eyes flashed with rage. "Fifty points from Slytherin. Never before has a student addressed me so blatantly rudely."

"There's a first time for everything," Draco smiled innocently, an expression that didn't reach his eyes, flat with malice. "But you'd know all about  _that_ , wouldn't you, you filthy strumpet?"

Blaise banged his head against the desk. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was not happening.

He peeked an eye open. This was definitely happening.

"Detention, Malfoy," Williamson snarled. "Get out of my room."

Draco smirked. "Gladly. How I manage to survive your nauseating presence repeatedly is anyone's guess. It certainly does no good for either my patience or my complexion. Good day, Williamson. Potter," he nodded politely to each in turn, gathered his books and left the room. He tossed Blaise a self-satisfied smirk as he passed and closed the door gently behind him.

Blaise snorted. Within hardly a minute, Draco had managed to enrage and fluster the teacher, disrupt the entire class, and leave in a perfectly polite and dignified manner. Only a Malfoy could have pulled off such a feat with such finesse.

* * *

 

Harry stared after Draco, his shock painting a portrait across his face. The room was dead silent and he could feel Ron's and Ginny's inquisitive gazes upon him, but he didn't meet them. A small movement caught his eyes, and Harry turned his head to see both Parkinson and Zabini staring at him contemplatively. He flushed. The way his classmates were reacting, anyone would think that it had been him, not Malfoy, who had just insulted the teacher.

He turned back to the front of the room. Williamson's eyes, too, were on him, dark with suspicion. Harry swallowed and looked down at his desk. He had thought that, after the first week, he would finally stop being the center of attention. But now, he realized that he would never truly be free of the spotlight's blinding glare.

A splash of green ink drew his eye, and Harry turned to see Draco's note page, still upon the table where he had forgotten it. But he saw now that Draco hadn't been taking notes at all. Written across the page were six and a half pairs of brilliantly green eyes. His eyes. Malfoy had been drawing his eyes all class period.

Harry swallowed stiffly, stuffed the parchment into his bag and murmured a goodbye to Ron on his way out of the room. No one spoke or moved to stop him as the class watched him leave.


	18. Veritaserum

The atmosphere among the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh and eighth years had calmed immensely by the time Potions rolled around. Ginny, Ron and Neville seemed to assume that Draco's scorn of Professor Williamson had been simply Malfoy being Malfoy, and thus unrelated to the fact that he had been protecting Harry. 

Harry slumped into his usual seat beside Draco, murmuring a quiet "Hi."

Draco nodded vaguely in his direction, not looking up from where he traced burn marks on the wooden bench with a long, pale finger. Harry felt something tighten in his chest as his eyes, too, followed the movement.

The tense silence between them stretched on. Three times Harry opened his mouth, only to close it when no words came. He sighed in frustration, rubbing his hands across the tight skin of his scar.

He was saved from the discomfort when Slughorn waddled merrily into the room. "Hello, hello, seventh and eighth years," Slughorn beamed. "Today is the day you have all been waiting for… the final steps of Veritaserum brewing have been completed, and it is time to test your potions! You have been provided with a list of suggested questions to ask your partner. I must remind you all that any inappropriate questions will result in detention, so everyone should do their best to keep the questions clean and friendly. Everybody place one drop on your tongue – that's the ticket – and find a private corner of the classroom in which to ask away!"

Harry sighed heavily, glancing at Draco. The blonde hadn't moved, still delicately tracing the black marks on the table top. Harry didn't like the idea of the Veritaserum testing one bit; he didn't like the idea of baring himself, all of his inner secrets to Malfoy. He lightly touched the parchment in his bag. Draco had been drawing Harry's eyes all class in Defense… he had defended Harry in front of the teacher, losing Slytherin house points and earning detention as he went. After he had kissed Harry, his eyes had burned with want.

And Malfoy  _had_  kissed Harry – Harry could still taste him on his lips and feel the tingling pressure. Somehow, all of his thoughts gave him the strength to drop the bead of Veritaserum onto his tongue. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that Draco wouldn't try to hurt him. Not anymore.

Draco glanced up sharply as the Veritaserum touched Harry's tongue. His silver eyes widened briefly in surprise, as if he had been expecting Harry to sulk all through the lesson. Draco searched Harry's eyes uncertainly, hesitating before he slowly dripped the Veritaserum onto his own tongue, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

Harry felt a tingle run down his spine and warmth pool below his navel. How could anyone's gaze be as intense as the dark steel of Draco's eyes? It felt sinfully good to have Draco look at him like that, and it was more than a little arousing how he extended his tongue, open mouthed with his head tilted slightly to the side, to swallow the potion, his molten silver gaze never leaving Harry's emerald eyes.

Harry swallowed thickly and looked away, tracing the scorch marks on the table with his eyes as he felt his cheeks burn.

Draco cleared his throat sharply, causing Harry's head to snap quickly towards him. He winced at the sudden pain in his neck and Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, Potter, are you going to ask me a question or are we just going to sit here all day?" he drawled.

Harry's flush deepened. "Oh. Er…" he glanced down at the list, skimming through the questions. "What's – What's your favorite color?"

One of Draco's eyebrows flew towards his hairline. "Really, Potter?" He snorted. "It's green. So what's your favorite color?"

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as he felt the answer almost immediately rise to his lips, unnervingly demanding to be spoken. He opened his mouth and the word simply flowed out. "Blue."

Draco smirked. "Really? I'd have thought it would be red for Gryffindor, wouldn't you?"

"No," Harry folded his arms petulantly. "It's blue."

"Fair enough," Draco's eyes shone in amusement. "Your turn."

"Hey, no!" Harry snorted indignantly, "I chose the question last time, and you just copied mine!"

"Are you  _whining_ , Potter?"Draco sneered.

"Yes," Harry pouted, unable to deny it. Draco merely smirked.

"Ask a question, Potter."

Harry glared at the Slytherin, but skimmed the list again. "Er… what do you plan to do after Hogwarts?"

Harry expected Draco to make a snappy comment, but he merely turned pensive. "I don't know," he said at long last. "I've always wanted to travel the world. Everyone always assumes that the Malfoys spend every vacation away from home, having great adventures in upscale French restaurants, but we were always too busy for that. I want to see the world," he shrugged. "What about you? Auror training or professional Quidditch?"

Harry grimaced bitterly. "Definitely not Quidditch. I love the game, but I couldn't stand anymore fame. I used to want to be an auror, but now that Voldemort's dead and the Death Eaters are gone – no offence – it doesn't feel like there's any point anymore. I wanted to be an auror because of the training it could give me to get rid of Voldemort, but if he's already gone then that's worthless. I hadn't really thought about what I want to do, just what I don't want to do." He returned to his examination of the scorched table, feeling rather embarrassed. Had he really just said all of that to Malfoy?

"Fair enough," Draco waved a hand with a flourish. "Next question."

Harry scowled, yet didn't argue. "Er…" Harry stared back at the list, but there was one question not on it that was pressing at his mind. "Why did you become a Death Eater?" he blurted without thinking.

Draco froze, lifting his eyes slowly to meet Harry's. "It was part of my father's punishment for his mistakes," he said. "The Dark Lord expected me to die on the tower with Dumbledore that night. He expected that I would either kill Dumbledore, or be killed by someone who was trying to defend Dumbledore. I had no choice in the matter." He paused, tilting his head to the side. The expression was strangely endearing. Harry balked. Did he just think _Malfoy_ was _endearing_? "What do you dream about in your nightmares?" he asked curiously. "All I ever hear are the screams."

Harry dropped his eyes to the table. Here it was, Malfoy exhorting his power over Harry to find his weaknesses. He frowned in confusion. But Malfoy didn't sound malicious, merely curious, with a hint of concern. He tried to hold back the answer, but it rose to his lips anyways. Damn them for making such effective Veritaserum. "It's all of them – everyone who died for me, everyone that I killed. They want to know why I killed them, what I'm doing with my life that was worth them dying for me. I think and think, but there's nothing – there's nothing worthwhile in my life. I don't deserve to live. I didn't deserve for them to take their lives because of me."

Again, he cursed his loose tongue. Draco stared ponderingly at him for a moment before nodding his acceptance. "Next question."

Harry didn't even take a moment to think before the next question leapt from his tongue. "Why did you kiss me?"

He froze, mortified as Draco stared back at him in shock. "I – I was –" Draco seemed to be floundering for an answer, but the Veritaserum was not accepting any of his lies. "Because I wanted to," he finished lamely, his pale cheeks coloring with a creeping rose glow. "I just wanted to, alright?" His eyes narrowed. "Why did you kiss me back?"

"Because – I – shit. Because I wanted to. I – I liked it, I suppose," Harry shrugged, matching Draco blush for blush. His blush deepened as he thought of his next question. "Do you – do you love me?" He stared determinedly at the table, wanting to sink into the wood, mold with the scorch marks. That way, Draco would trace his beautiful, long finger over him, he would – no. That wasn't it at all. He just wanted to disappear. That was all, right?

"What?" Draco stammered, staring at Harry in disbelief.

Harry shrugged, vaguely wondering why the Veritaserum didn't seem to affect Draco as much as it did him. He didn't seem to have to answer the questions right away. "I found this on your desk in the Defense classroom," Harry murmured, drawing the picture of his eyes from his bag.

Draco shut his eyes in horror as he answered. "Yes, you fucking wanker, yes I love you. How could I not?"

Thankfully, the Veritaserum didn't seem to demand an answer to that question although Harry could think of many reasons why Draco couldn't love him.

"And – and you?" Draco asked quietly, his voice laced with a hint of fear. "Do you love me?"

Harry thought for a moment, musing over the answer the Veritaserum brought to his mind. How could he love Malfoy? He had been the one constant in Harry's life for years, but before a month ago, Harry had thought he'd hated him. How could he love Malfoy? Unless there really were such things as Adulating Bombats? Or – perhaps he always had loved Malfoy. Harry thought back to sixth year, when Hermione had called his feelings towards Malfoy an 'obsession'. What if it was more than that, so much more?

"Yes," he answered quietly, a slow grin breaking across his face as he realized the truth of it.

But instead of seeing an answering delight on Draco's face, the Slytherin shrank back in horror. "No. No, you can't love me. You can't." Draco shook his head desperately, his eyes clamped shut. "No. No, you can't."

"But I do," Harry said, panicking. He laid a hand on the Slytherin's knee, trying to convey his honesty through the touch.

"No. No, dammit, you can't!"

"Why can't I?" Harry snapped, feeling his frustration breaking through.

"I'll hurt you," Draco answered softly. "I'll tear you apart."

"Why?" Harry demanded, rubbing at his scar against the threatening headache. Why was the blonde so  _infuriating_? "Why will you hurt me?"

* * *

 

Blaise looked up as Hermione rushed into the Potions classroom and mumbled a hasty apology to Slughorn for her lateness. He was hoping that Granger had figured it out – he had been watching Draco and Potter throughout the class period and figured that Potter was dangerously close to learning the truth. He wouldn't tell Granger what was going on in Draco's life, but he fervently hoped that he wouldn't need to. Granger was a bright witch, she would figure it out.

"I've been in the library," she said breathlessly as she slumped down in her seat and trickled Veritaserum onto her tongue. "I've found out all about Draco's parents – his father's sentence to the Kiss and his death before it could be administered, his mother's resulting depression and how she was locked up in St. Mungo's as suicide prevention." She took a breath, "I've read all the newspapers and looked in with St. Mungo's about her case and what happened to other Death Eaters.

"A healer heard the words she muttered as she was dragged into the hospital. She said 'Not him, too. Not him, too.'" Hermione frowned uncertainly. "She wasn't talking about Lucius, was she?"

Blaise released the breath he had been holding, shaking his head slowly. "No mother wants to watch her child die."

* * *

 "Why will you hurt me?"

Draco rubbed his hands over his eyes tiredly. "Because I'm dying, Potter. I'm dying."


	19. Never Letting Go

Harry gaped at Draco in disbelief. "What do you mean, you're dying?"

Draco sighed heavily and seized Harry's shoulder, dragging him from the classroom. Slughorn's feeble protests followed them out the door, but Draco never slowed until they had reached the familiar openness of the Astronomy Tower.

"What do you mean, you're dying?" Harry repeated numbly. There was a dull roar ringing through his ears and his heart, a mindless white noise that he instinctively knew only Draco could quell.

Draco sighed again and sat on the low wall, swinging his legs into the open air surrounding the tower. Harry moved to sit next to him. "You remember what I told you about my father and all of the other Death Eaters being dead don't you?" Harry nodded wordlessly, gesturing for him to continue. "They were all killed by the curse."

"Curse?" Harry's head snapped up, turning wide eyes upon Draco. "What curse?"

"The Dark Lord's curse. He's always been paranoid, placing protective measures everywhere to ensure his survival. You've encountered a few of these in order to kill him, I'd imagine?"

"Yes," Harry nodded, "the Horcruxes."

"Right," Draco shrugged. "I'm not going to ask what those are, but I'll assume that they're a part of the same, paranoid self-survival type of deal," he rolled his eyes.

"At the moment we were marked, Voldemort placed a dormant curse upon us. He knew that the majority, if not all, of his Death Eaters followed him only out of fear and not loyalty or respect. This worried him, as he knew that, given the chance, any one of us could have killed him, quite gladly. When he marked us, he placed upon each of us a curse set to activate upon his death. He assumed that, knowing about the curse, we would all try our hardest to ensure his survival." He laughed sardonically. "That was how Father knew that the Dark Lord was still alive after he failed to kill you all those years ago – he wasn't dead yet."

"But – how is it that no one but the Death Eaters know of the curse?" Harry demanded.

Draco snorted. "Honestly, Potter, name one Death Eater you knew who would want to flaunt to the world that the easiest way to be rid of every Death Eater would be to make sure that the Dark Lord died first? It was as much for our own safety as the Dark Lord's that the curse was never revealed. Besides, who  _would_  know of the curse? Every single Death Eater was in Azkaban when they died – every Death Eater, that is, except for me."

"But – why are you not dead then?" Harry winced as the words left his mouth, quickly amending: "I mean, why are you the only one left, when no one else is?"

"I can only guess," Draco shrugged, "But I assume that it was because everyone else was in Azkaban. The dementors are angry about the few meager souls that they were given in the face of the thousands that they had been promised by the Dark Lord. I would be very surprised if they didn't immediately go about sucking as much of the souls of their prisoners as they could without performing the kiss.

"They were all weakened in Azkaban. But I wasn't. Because of your testimony, I stayed out of Azkaban. Because of your testimony, I remain strong." He laughed humorlessly. "I suppose that you saved my life, Potter."

"Dammit, Malfoy!" Harry snarled. "Saving your life and prolonging your death are not equivalent! It's because of me that you're dying anyways! If I hadn't killed Voldemort, none of this would have happened!"

"Oh, so you would rather have the Dark Lord still out there, terrorizing families, killing innocent people left and right, hurting them, raping them, murdering them,  _playing_  with them? You would rather have that than a few less dark wizards in this forsaken world?"

Harry sighed. "You're not a dark wizard, Malfoy. You said so yourself, you had no choice." Harry rubbed at his scar agitatedly. This could not be happening. Draco couldn't really be dying, could he? Not when Harry had only just discovered his own feelings for the blonde and found that they were returned. "How long do you have?"

Draco shrugged. "Who knows? It's been four months already. There's no one to compare to, no way to know if there's years left or months or weeks or days. The Dark Lord would have wanted it to cause maximum panic. He would have made it so that no one knew  _when_ the end was coming, just that it was on its way. An unstoppable force, drawing nearer and nearer with every breath pulled through lips of the damned."

Harry was shaking his head. "No. That might have been the fate of your father and the others, but it won't be yours. I won't let it, not when I've only just found you."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Harry never gave him the chance, effectively swallowing his words with a forceful kiss. "You're mine," Harry hissed against Draco's lips. "Voldemort can't have you, not now or ever again." Draco could only moan his agreement, giving himself in to the kiss as Harry's tongue entered his mouth, claiming his own in a possessive dance.

As Harry molded himself flush against Draco's body, Draco knew that Harry's words had been the truth. He belonged to Harry now; body, heart, mind and spirit, his everything was Harry's for the taking.

* * *

 

Harry traced lazy patterns across the blonde's bare back as he held Draco against his chest. He felt a secret thrill that they had fit so perfectly together, perfect opposites and perfect complements. They were dark and light; fire and ice; hard, knotted muscles versus long, roped ones, each containing an equally matched power. They had fit so perfectly together, and Harry was going to let nothing,  _nothing_ , take Draco away from him.

He stole Draco's bruised lips in another possessive kiss, marking the blonde as his own with every sweep of the tongue, every slide of lips, every nip of teeth. "You're mine," he hissed again, "and I'm never letting you go."

Draco chuckled, a warm and contented sound that Harry had never before heard from him. The sound filled his heart and swelled it fit to bursting. Harry locked it away within his memories; he was going to treasure every moment with this feisty blonde who had said that he loved him. He was never letting go.

"Of all the complete idiots in this world, I had to fall in love with Harry sodding Potter, the one who believes he can save everyone."

In that moment, Harry vowed that he would. He would find a way to save Draco's life. He would find a way to free him of this curse. He would find a way to keep him for eternity. He would find a way to be able to love him for all time.


	20. Friendly Banter

Harry would have been perfectly content to simply lie there, holding Draco in his arms, if not for the twin growling of two stomachs announcing that it was soon to be lunchtime.

Draco groaned, heaving to his feet and hurrying to dress. "Potions class should be finished by now. We should get to the Great Hall before Blaise comes looking for me."

The walk to the Great Hall was filled with an uncomfortable silence as Harry and Draco smiled hesitantly at one another, uncertain of their new standing. Harry felt that nothing would change between them – he had already been far friendlier with Draco this year than any of the previous years he had known the blonde. He felt that his every interaction with Draco would now simply be more powerful, hold more meaning, but he couldn't be certain that Draco felt the same.

When they reached the Great Hall doors, Harry shot Draco a weak smile. "Well, I'll… see you tonight?"

Draco returned the cautious smile. "I suppose so. Have a nice lunch, Potter."

Harry's eyes followed Draco as the blonde entered the Great Hall. Draco. Beautiful, proud Draco. Broken, forsaken, alone Draco. His Draco. "I'll save you, Malfoy," he whispered, low enough that no one else could hear.

"Where'd you go with Malfoy during Potions?" Ron asked through a mouthful of chicken as Harry joined he, Hermione and Ginny at the Gryffindor table.

Harry shrugged, trying not to look too guilty. "I wanted to ask him some questions about being a Death Eater and he didn't want the entire class to hear the answers."

"You had Malfoy under Veritaserum," Ron beamed. "You could have asked him anything! What did you find out?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ronald," Hermione cut in before Harry had a chance to speak. "Malfoy had Harry under Veritaserum as well. That would have gone both ways."

Ron's blue eyes widened as he stared at Harry in horror. "You didn't tell him about the Horcruxes, did you?"

"The what?"

"Mentioned them, but I don't think he knew what they were," Harry said simply, ignoring Ginny.

Ron blanched. "You don't think – you don't think that Malfoy's tried to  _make_  any Horcruxes, do you?"

Harry cast Ron a disbelieving glare, his thoughts dancing back to that night on the tower when Draco had been forced to either kill Dumbledore or be killed himself. Even with his own life on the linke, he hadn't been able to kill another. Draco, he knew, would never be able to take the innocent life needed to split his soul. Draco would have made one terrible Death Eater, he thought with a fond smile. "No," he told Ron, "I'm positive that, even if he knew what they were, he would never consider attempting to make them."

When Draco had told Harry of his fate, he had seemed resigned. Harry was sure that Draco would never resort to anything so crude and malicious as a Horcrux.

"So… what did he tell you?" Ron pressed impatiently, forking another chunk of chicken into his mouth.

"This and that," Harry shrugged vaguely, careful to seem nonchalant through the turmoil raging inside of him. He desperately needed to find a way to save Draco's life. And for that, he needed Hermione. If there was one person who could figure out how to save Draco, it was her. Catching her eye, Harry tried to convey subtly and wordlessly that he needed to speak with her. Hermione grimaced and nodded her understanding.

Ron seemed about to protest Harry's lack of an answer when Ginny elbowed him in the side. "Leave it, Ron. The war is over, it doesn't matter now anyways."

Harry could have kissed her.

Well, perhaps not a kiss, but a firm handshake. Still, he felt queasy over her choice of wording. It was because the war was over that he was faced with this problem. It was because he had killed Voldemort that Draco was dying. If he had known then that killing Voldemort would result in Draco's death, would he still have been able to do it?

Five months ago, he would have said yes.

Now? Now that he was faced with the possibility of a future without Draco in it, he wondered if he could have hurt the dark wizard at all. Voldemort had killed so many – his parents, so many of his friends and countless innocents. Voldemort was too dangerous to let live. He would have continued killing and killing. But how could Harry have killed him, knowing that in doing so he was killing Draco as well?

"Harry?" he was startled from his musings by a gentle tap on the shoulder. "Might I have a word?" Harry nodded and followed Arthur Weasley out of the Great Hall, his eyes briefly catching Draco's silver as he left the room.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley began, grasping Harry's shoulder comfortingly. "I know that you've been feeling rather stressed lately – it's been showing in your interactions with Ron and Ginny as well as in your schoolwork."

"Look, Mr. Weasley," Harry injected hastily, feeling contrite. "I know that I was rude to Ginny and I hurt her, but I didn't –"

"I know, Harry," Arthur squeezed his shoulder in assurance. "I just wanted you to know that whether you're looking for someone to support you in your choice of partner, you need someone to talk to, or you simply need someone to be there for you, I'm always here. You've always been family to us, ever since the moment you befriended Ron, and you always will be."

Harry's breath caught in the sudden constriction of his throat. He had never expected the father of one of the people he had killed to still love him. He hadn't even realized how much he had been longing for Arthur's affection and approval until he was given it. He hugged Arthur tightly, feeling that it was the easiest way to express the gratitude and affection he felt for his best friend's father, a man who had always been loving, supportive and welcoming of him when he least deserved it.

* * *

 

Blaise frowned as Draco sat beside him at the Slytherin table. "Potter knows?" he asked.

Draco gave him a curt nod, all of the answer that Blaise needed.

"How did he take it?"

A phantom smile lit Draco's lips before it slid off and sagged into a frown. "He was… angry. And guilty. He blamed himself, I think. He thinks that he can fix this – that he can find a way to reverse or cancel the curse."

Blaise winced. He should have foreseen that Potter's famed hero-complex would go haywire when faced with the issue of Draco's impending mortality. Potter had always had a "saving-people thing", it was only to be assumed that he would bend over backwards to save Draco. He focused back on the blonde when Draco's cheeks tinged pink.

"He said that – he said that he was never letting me go."

Blaise felt his insides plummet. Potter was serious about Draco, that much was apparent. But would his affection be a help to Draco or only a hindrance to Potter when all was said and done? Attachments to Draco could only end in heartbreak, but this – relationship, whatever it was with Potter seemed to be doing Draco a world of good. There was a new light in Draco's eyes, a color to his cheeks that Blaise hadn't seen since before Draco had been coerced into joining the Death Eaters. No matter his misgivings about the effect on Potter, their relationship was healthy for Draco. Blaise could only support it.

"Well, perhaps the Gryffindor Miracle-Boy can find a way to stop the curse." Blaise silenced, looking up with a smile as Pansy joined them, a worried frown creasing the creamy skin between her eyes.

"Draco," she said quietly as soon as she sat down, "I think that Potter's in love with you."

"I think so, too," Draco answered with a small smirk. Pansy gaped at him, looking scandalized.

"You no longer care about how much it will hurt him?"

Draco snorted. "Why should I care? I'm a Malfoy, such things are beneath me." He sniffed haughtily, but shrank back under the weight of Blaise's glare. "Of course I care," he said quietly. "But this is so much more than that now, Pans. I need him and he needs me. I'll give him all that I can while I can and hope that he'll be alright afterwards. Because he isn't alright right now."

Pansy's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean, Potter's not alright right now?"

Draco quirked a teasing brow at her. "You haven't noticed?" he shook his head somberly. "And you pride yourself on your observational talents."

She scowled. "Don't toy with me, Malfoy. What did you mean about Potter not being alright?"

Draco sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He glanced up and Blaise saw his expression warm as his gaze lighted upon Potter leaving the Hall with Professor Weasley. Suddenly, something in Blaise's mind snapped into place with all the subtlety of a freight train.

"You shagged him, didn't you?" Blaise exclaimed loudly. Wide-eyed third years turned to stare at them in surprise, their expressions matching the startled "o" shape of Pansy's mouth. Blaise sneered at them and they quickly turned back to their meals.

Draco smirked, his eyes shining. "Actually,  _he_  shagged  _me_."

Pansy looked appalled while Blaise merely grinned at his best friend and ex-lover. "Never figured you to be one to bottom, Dray. Still, I suppose an assumed-to-be-straight bloke can almost pretend that he's shagging a girl if he's topping."

Draco quelled his grin with an icy glare. "Not that you would know anything about topping, would you, you poncy poofter?"

Blaise rolled his eyes, his mirth not lost by the blonde's jab. "Well, you obviously enjoyed it. What's that old saying?" he paused, looking mock-thoughtful. "Ah, yes – the best way to get over a bloke is to get under another one, isn't it? Not still caught up on me, are you?" he pouted, sticking out a full lower lip, a humorous glint shining in his black eyes.

Draco sneered at his friend. "Nice try, wanker. I've been over you for years." He smirked, "and as I recall, it was I who broke it off with you."

Blaise leered at Draco suggestively. "Ah, yes, but I wouldn't be a wanker if I were still with you, now would I?"

"Of course not," Draco smirked, "but as of now, I am a spoken for man, so you can keep your filthy paws off of my aristocratic arse."

"Oh right," Blaise smirked back. "You're taken by the completely gorgeous Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, Order of Merlin First Class, Mass Celebrity,  _Witch Weekly_ 's Sexiest Hunk, and with one super fine arse to boot." He winked, "I'd wank over that."

Draco scowled. "Prick. Don't you touch him."

Blaise's smirk widened. "Wouldn't dream of it, lover boy."

"Er… guys?" Pansy's disgusted voice broke through their friendly banter. "As much as I agree that Potter is completely foxy, can we please  _not_  talk about how much we all want to shag him at the lunch table?"


	21. Everything Is Alright

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Hermione asked as soon as they were alone in the common room. Dean, Neville and Seamus had pulled Ron into a loud game of exploding snap in the corner.

"I need your help," Harry began, biting his lip. He was concerned that, as soon as Hermione found out what he wanted, she would turn from him in scorn. "It's about Malfoy."

Instead of the surprised look that he had been expecting, Hermione only smiled sadly. "I expected as much," she pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You love him, don't you?"

Harry glanced over to where Draco was in deep discussion with Blaise and Pansy. The blonde shook his head at something Parkinson had said, his hair dancing around his steely gray eyes. His hands were perched upon each narrow hip, his thin lips set in a hard line. He looked irritated. He looked dangerous. He looked completely irresistible

Harry didn't realize that he had been smiling until he looked back at Hermione's amused expression. "Yes," he answered, his eyes drifting back towards Draco just as warm silver eyes lifted to meet his own. "Yes, I love him."

Hermione nodded forlornly, but made no other response. "So why did you want to speak with me?"

Harry jerked his gaze from Draco's. "I need you to help me save his life."

Hermione looked at him piteously. "Harry, he was cursed by Voldemort himself. There's no way that we can provide a countercurse for that… I wouldn't even know where to begin looking! There are no living subjects, there's no way that we could know if any of our methods did anything to stop it… Voldemort wouldn't have made for an easy escape."

Harry shook his head in denial. "Voldemort always underestimates others, Dumbledore said so himself. There's got to be an easy solution for this – something so mind bogglingly simple that Voldemort would never have thought of it."

"I don't think it's going to be that simple, Harry," Hermione's bushy curls bobbed as she shook her head. "Do you remember the Weasley twins with Dumbledore's aging spell during the Triwizard? They thought the same thing."

"Please, Herm," Harry begged, grasping her hand. "If this works or if it doesn't, I have to try. I have to try and save his life. I can't lose him."

"I know," Hermione sighed, giving his hand a faint squeeze. "I know you do. I'll do what I can to help."

"Thanks, Herm," Harry seized her in a fervently grateful hug.

"I'm just afraid that it won't be enough – that you'll get your hopes up for nothing." She shook her head, chewing on her lip worriedly. "But I suppose we'll just take that as it comes."

Harry started in surprise as he felt a hand descend upon his shoulder. "Potter," Harry turned to see Draco's gentle gaze inches from his own and he instantly felt his stress melt away into a puddle of contented goo. Since when did Draco have such an effect on him? "Granger," Draco nodded a carefully polite acknowledgement to Hermione before turning back to Harry. Hermione tactfully slipped away to watch the exploding snap game. "Care to join me for a drink?"

Harry felt his face split into an involuntary grin as he accepted the offered hand and was led from the South Tower.

The Astronomy Tower was dark when they arrived – a black night dotted with bursts of starlight. Draco immediately lifted his face into the night breeze and closed his eyes, a light smile playing across his sharp, angelic features. Harry watched him silently, reveling in the new openness about Draco as he lowered his boundaries. He wondered briefly whether it was the knowledge of his pending death that had altered the Slytherin so drastically from the snide and arrogant bastard he had used to know, or if he had always been this warm and gentle and Harry had never known him well enough to see beyond his carefully placed boundaries.

Regardless, Harry loved seeing Draco smile. He loved the fondness that shone from Draco's eyes. He loved the seeming innocence about his open wonder of the sky. He loved how that innocence seamlessly transformed into a devilishly suggestive smirk as the blonde opened glistening molten silver eyes to meet Harry's gaze. Harry loved the way his breath caught in his throat as their eyes met. He loved everything about the casual elegance that surrounded Draco. He loved Draco.

"It's a beautiful night tonight, isn't it?" Draco's silky voice seemed to caress Harry as he spoke. "The night is so dark that you can see almost every star."

Harry blinked twice as Draco turned back to his surveillance of the night. "What did you mean when you said that 'When the night is darkest, it is then that the stars shine the brightest'?"

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry. "I meant that when everything in your life seems that it can't get any worse, there's always something good to balance it out." He cocked his head to the side, scratching his chin endearingly. "I believe that some Muggles think of it as Divine Intervention. Every time the gods take something away, the give something else – be it something material or something so simple as peace at heart."

Harry tried to swallow against the sudden tightness in his throat. "So what's good about you dying?"

Draco smiled sadly at him. "It brought you to me. If I hadn't been about to die – if Voldemort hadn't been killed – you would have been stuck with the Weaselette for an eternity and had three little nauseating red-headed brats. And I? I would be left with a broken father and a terrified mother, living in fear of a master that I never wanted to serve, all the while hopelessly in love with some stupid git with glasses and messy hair whom my master would have done anything do destroy." He smirked at Harry. "And  _that_ , Potter, is the silver lining to my death and why I enjoy the stars so much. They remind me of my father's last words to me before the Ministry took him away. They give me hope."

"Do you ever visit your mother?" Harry asked after a comfortable silence in which they both gazed up at the night sky, shoulder to shoulder.

Draco shrugged. "I did over the summer and I will at Christmas, I suppose. I'll visit her next summer, too, if –"

The unspoken words hung between them heavily.  _If_  Draco were still alive. If.

Harry swallowed and they lapsed into another silence, filled with unspoken concerns.

"Hermione's going to help me find a way to save you," he said at last, shattering the silence between them like a hammer against glass.

Draco snorted, shaking his head. "You've got to stop thinking that you can save everyone, Harry," Harry started at his casual use of Harry's given name. "Not everyone can live forever. You need to stop trying to save me and start getting used to the idea that everyday could be my last. Merlin knows that I have."

Harry shook his head angrily. "Stop that, Draco. There's got to be a way to save you. Dammit, there  _has_  to be. I'm not going to let you die on me, you filthy wanker." He stopped, blinking hard when he realized that he was close to tears. "You  _bastard_. You are not going to tell me that you love me and then die on me. I'm not going to let you." A new thought struck him and he snatched at it hopefully. "How do you even know that you're dying, anyways? What if the curse skipped you? You've shown no signs of being near death, what if –"

"Potter," Draco snarled, effectively silencing Harry. "Stop. Just stop. The curse didn't skip me. I can't believe that you didn't notice before." He turned his body towards Harry and flipped his left hand, palm up. He thumbed open the button on his cuff and yanked his sleeve up to his elbow. Harry blanched.

While the top half of Draco's Dark Mark was the washed-out grey that could be expected after Voldemort's demise, the bottom half had turned a deep, blood red. "It changes in spurts of different intervals," Draco shrugged, eyeing Harry's pale face uneasily. "Only yesterday it was about a third gone. I think that, when it finally reaches the top and it's all red – I think that's when the curse will be completed." His gaze grew distant. "When they brought us Father's body, his mark was entirely red. Mine was only a fraction gone at that point and Mother couldn't handle it.

"She completely broke down, sobbing 'Not him, too! Not him, too!' and the next day I found her in the bathroom with her wrist sliced open, covered in her own blood. I had to summon Healers to take her away before she did anything more to hurt herself."

Harry stared at Draco numbly as he rattled on about his parents. Harry couldn't begin to care about them, not when faced with tangible proof that his Draco was dying. He desperately needed to save him. Whether it was because of an Adulating Bombat or not, he was hopelessly in love with Draco, even after such a short time. He couldn't begin to imagine a life without the blonde anymore.

"Do you miss your father?" Harry asked quietly, his finger subconsciously tracing over the lines of the mark that were still grey, proof that they still had time. Still had hope. His fingers shied away from the red of Voldemorts contamination.

Draco shrugged. "He was my father. Of course I miss him. But if this curse continues to do its job, I'll be with him soon."

Harry stared at the stars in despair. He had to believe that somehow, even if the worst happened, Draco would still be with him. "Hermione once said that the souls of the dead are up there, watching over us from the stars. Do you believe that?"

Draco snorted inelegantly. "Merlin, I hope they aren't," he chuckled. "If Father could see me now, sitting here with Harry Potter, of all people." He shook his head, strands of blonde hair bouncing around his eyes. "No, Potter, I think that's all just Muggle nonsense."

Harry smiled at Draco's airy tone, despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. If he couldn't save Draco and if he couldn't find him in the stars, where could he find him? Where would he be? This was so much more than losing Sirius or Cedric or Tonks and Lupin or Fred and Dumbledore. This was so much more than discovering that Snape, too, had only been trying to protect him and had died in doing so. He _couldn't_ , after everything, lose Draco, too. Where was the silver lining in that? How could there be any stars at all in the darkness that would follow?

"Potter," Draco stilled Harry's questing fingers and entwined them with his own. Harry blinked back into focus. "It's alright. Everything is going to be alright."

And even though Harry knew that it wasn't – how could it be? – it was exactly what he needed to hear. He relaxed visibly, sinking into Draco's embrace as the blonde's lips descended onto his own, the whiskey bottles rolling away, long forgotten.

"Everything is alright," Draco whispered against Harry's lips.

And in that moment, at least, everything was.


	22. Animosity

Harry awakened sleepily, his limbs entwined with Draco's as he shivered in the crisp October morning air. He brushed his lips along the mark on the inside of Draco's left forearm, feeling a pleasant ache inside of him where Draco had breached the night before, touching where no one else had ever touched, claiming Harry's body as thoroughly as he had already claimed his heart, mind and soul.

A smile danced over Harry's lips as he realized that it was Saturday. He would have ample time today to spend both with Draco and searching for a way to stop the curse with Hermione.

Harry nuzzled into the downy perfection of Draco's pale blonde hair, inhaling the husky lemon scent that was so purely Draco. His lungs felt fit to burst as he continued to inhale, unwilling to let any precious fragment of Draco's scent escape, not knowing how long he would have until that smell disappeared forever.

He released his breath with a whoosh as Draco stirred, blinking at Harry with sleepy grey eyes. Draco's lips quirked up in a half-smirk and Harry's face split in to a broad grin. He could very easily get used to the idea of waking next to Draco.

"You didn't have any nightmares last night," Draco said, raising a pale eyebrow.

Harry's grin widened as he realized that Draco was correct. "I guess that the alcohol isn't the only type of Draco Juice that keeps the dreams away," he chuckled, earning himself a slap from Draco. "I know, I know. That was in poor taste," he grinned, unrepentant.

Draco smirked in return and stood, stretching as he hunted for his clothing. Harry, too, stretched out sore muscles, stiff from lying on a cold, stone floor all night as he watched Draco. Sunlight danced across the expanses of pale, creamy skin and Harry felt a smug smile tug at the corner of his lips. Draco was beautiful. Draco was  _his_. He enjoyed every twinge of disappointment as another sliver of skin disappeared from view with each additional article of clothing.

When Draco had finished dressing, he turned to run an appraising eye over Harry's body. "Are you going to put on a show, or are you coming to breakfast with me?" he smirked, his silver eyes laughing. "You'll give Granger and the Weasel a heart attack if you come to breakfast looking as delectable as you do right now."

Harry flushed and quickly scrambled to throw on his own clothing before accompanying Draco to breakfast.

At the doors of the Great Hall they paused, turning uncertainly to one another. "Sit with me at Gryffindor today?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco sneered and shook his head. "With all of your little friends who think that I'm the scum of the earth? No thanks, Potter." He turned and placed his hand on the door before turning back hesitantly to Harry. "Will you join me at the Slytherin table?"

Harry felt his insides soar at the request, but shook his head firmly. "I need to speak with Hermione," he said with an apologetic shrug.

Draco nodded at him formally. "Well then, Potter, I shall see you later." He turned to enter the Great Hall, but Harry pulled him away from the doors, shoving him up against the wall and seizing his lips in a hard kiss.

"Damn right, you will," he growled.

There came a startled gasp from behind Harry, followed by a "What the bloody  _hell_?" before Harry was forcibly yanked away from Draco and the blonde received a freckled fist in the mouth. "What the bloody hell are you trying to pull?" Ron snarled, holding one fist threateningly before Draco's face and fisting the other hand in the collar of his robes.

Draco's tongue poked questingly at his teeth before he smirked, finding himself unharmed, his eyes glowing an icy grey. "Well, Weasel, if you took a closer look before barging in like an angry bull, you might have noticed that Potter had  _me_  against the wall. I was not attempting to debauch poor, innocent little Potter with my Slytherin wickedness."

Ron snarled angrily, drawing his fist back to strike Draco again.

"Ron, wait!" Harry cried, attempting to stop the larger man from harming Draco. The blonde's head slammed into the wall and blood spurted as Ron's fist again made contact. " _Ron!_  – Dammit! – _Petrificus Totalus_ ," Harry bellowed, pointing his wand at the redhead.

Ron fell to the floor with a crash, immobile save for his eyes which glared accusingly at Harry. Harry turned towards Draco. "Are you alright?"

"I abays –  _Episkey_  – Pardon. I always knew that your friends were psychotic." Draco wrinkled his newly mended nose experimentally, carefully feeling it to be sure it had retained its original shape before he turned to survey Ron. "Stupid bastard, you broke my nose. Nice freeze charm, by the way," he nodded to Harry.

Ron's eyes widened at Harry in betrayal.

Harry sighed. "Look, Ron, I'm going to release you, but only if you promise not to harm Draco. I'll explain everything."

The rebellious narrowing of Ron's eyes promised no such thing, but Harry freed him anyways. He trusted that Ron's desire for answers would prove stronger than his desire to maul Draco.

"What the  _hell_ , Harry?" Ron demanded as soon as he could speak, his eyes flashing a dangerously cool blue. " _Malfoy?_  You chose  _Malfoy_  over me?"

Draco snorted in amusement. "Actually, I think it was more along the lines of him choosing me over your sister. But it's probably just as well; I don't think you would take too kindly to him fucking her, now would you?"

Harry sighed, running his hand over his scar. This was not going to be easy – the Malfoy/Weasley animosity was deeply engrained in both of them and extended back several generations. He glanced between the twin glares and balled fists of his best friend and his lover. They were both such hot-heads from old pureblooded families, each stead fast in their own beliefs and loyalties. Was there any hope of convincing them to see eye-to-eye?

"Draco, shut up," Harry extended a hand to silence his protest before he turned to the other. "Look, Ron," Harry began hesitantly. "There's no easy way to say this, but… I love him," Harry shrugged lamely.

Ron stared incredulously between Harry's sheepish half-smile and Draco's hard sneer and defensive stance. He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, but when he opened them, nothing had changed. "Harry, what the hell is going on? You love my sister, not some  _man_! Not Malfoy!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Weasel, how slow can you be? I already said that –"

"Draco!" Harry snapped. "I already told you to be quiet!"

Ron whirled on Draco, snarling, "You. What the hell did you do to Harry? You bewitched him, didn't you? What was it, eh? A love potion? Or the Imperius? They'll put you away for that, you know. I can see the headlines now: 'Last Death Eater Uses Unforgivable on Savior.' You won't even get a trial, I'd wager, you sick, sick bastard."

He stopped warily as Draco's wand shot up between his eyes. Harry hovered by nervously. He didn't  _think_  that Draco would hurt Ron, but he couldn't be too sure. "How dare you suggest that I would ever hurt him like that?" Draco hissed. "That I would ever do  _anything_  to him against his will? How dare you stick your meddlesome, freckled nose anywhere that it doesn't belong, you revolting Gryffindor?" Draco spat the word like a curse, his eyes flashing with an ice-cold loathing as he sneered at Ron.

They were the same height, but while Ron was taller and stronger thank the blonde, Draco had an almost feral confidence in his stance that made it obvious to anyone viewing who would be the victor in a fight or duel between the two.

"You stupid serpent," Ron glowered, refusing to be cowed by the dominating energy radiating from Draco. "How could you assume that I wouldn't find out you'd enchanted Harry?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Stupid, am I? Which of us, I wonder, is the dimwit who can't see what's before his own eyes?"

"Ron. Draco. Stop. Just stop," Harry quickly stepped between them before Draco's wand could release anything more potent than a shower of angry sparks. "Draco, calm down. Ron, shut up and listen to me for a moment." Ron gave a jerky half-nod and Draco lowered his wand a fraction of an inch, which Harry interpreted to be a reluctant cooperation from both of them. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ron, I know that you think he cursed me or slipped me some potion, but I don't believe that he did. Besides, I'm immune to Imperio, remember? I love him, and I'm positive that it's because of him, not because of something he did to me."

Ron shook his head in bewilderment. "But Harry, you  _hate_  Malfoy. You've always hated him! How can you be so sure that he hasn't cursed you or bewitched you somehow? He's given you his stupid Draco Juice countless times – how do you know that he didn't slip a love potion into one of them?"

Draco's arms slithered around Harry's waist and Harry was pulled against the Slytherin's chest before he could answer. "Oh, we never  _really_  hated each other," Draco purred, nuzzling into Harry's neck. "It was all a show, wasn't it, pumpkin?" Harry tried not to expose his neck to Draco to give him better access, tried not to shiver in pleasure as a warm tongue brushed across his skin, tried not to melt into his embrace. But he could tell from the appalled look on Ron's face that he wasn't succeeding.

Harry groaned and pushed against Draco's chest, pulling out of the smirking blonde's embrace. "Draco – not helping," he scowled. "Ron, I used to hate him, sure. But I don't anymore. I can't explain when that changed. You can test me for a love potion or Imperius if you want, but I know that you won't find anything. This is me."

"But  _Harry_ ," Ron whined, "he's  _Malfoy_. If it had to be a bloke, why did it have to be  _him_? Since when are you into men, anyways?"

Harry frowned at that question. He hadn't thought about it that way. "I don't think that it's men, Ron," Harry scratched his scar, searching for the right words. "It's just Draco. Man or woman, I don't want anyone else." He felt a comforting hand on the small of his back as Draco moved closer. "Ron, please understand."

Ron looked between the two of them, an undecipherable expression upon his features. Finally, he jabbed his wand threateningly at Draco. "You do anything to hurt him – anything at all – and I will kill you myself."

Draco chuckled humourlessly. "Fair enough, Weasel. To hurt him, I would have to already be dead."

Ron seemed placated, but Harry felt a cold trickle of fear slide down his spine. To hurt Harry, Draco would have to be dead. There it was again, that inescapable event, lurking ever closer in the shadows.

After Ron had all but fled to the Gryffindor table, Harry seized Draco in a fierce kiss, pouring out all of his panic through the union of their lips. "Don't you dare die on me," he hissed. Draco merely held him until his world stopped spinning.


	23. Public Knowledge

Hermione sighed, looking around the library uncertainly. "Honestly, Harry, I don't even know where to begin. Voldemort's never exactly followed anything in the library, has he?"

"Maybe not," Harry shrugged, "but we've always been able to find clues, haven't we? First year with the Sorcerer's Stone, the basilisk second year, werewolves in third, gillyweed in fourth… There's _always_ something here.When have books ever let you down before?" Hermione still chewed on her lip, looking unconvinced. "Come on, Herm, you're the best researcher that there is. We just need to find ways to stop or reverse a curse."

"Alright," Hermione agreed, looking mollified, if unconvinced, "but I don't think it will just be that simple. Like with the Horcruxes, Voldemort would have gone to great efforts to ensure that no one knew about the way to be freed of the spell. If a way even exists, it will be very difficult to find."

"Or it could be mind-bogglingly simple," Harry argued. "Voldemort had a knack for underestimating others. He might have assumed that no one would bother to look. Either way, we're wasting time – time that Draco doesn't have."

Hermione frowned, searching his face with her warm brown eyes. "How far is it now?"

"Almost two-thirds gone," Harry sighed, not needing to ask to know that she was referring to the redness of Draco's Dark Mark.

Hermione turned away quickly, but Harry didn't miss the brief flash of worry shining in her eyes. Hermione was terrified that they wouldn't have time to save him. But they had to. They  _had_ to. Hermione began scanning the book titles on the shelves behind her and Harry breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful that he could always count on Hermione.

Three hours later, Harry was feeling rather cross-eyed from his prolonged staring at the tiny printed words of endless books. Several times he had cried out in triumph and shoved a passage under Hermione's nose, only to have her turn it down as it only applied to specific spells or was particularly temperamental. Harry felt desperation and panic gnaw away at his stomach like some starving beast each time they reached another dead end.

Finally, Hermione shoved her book away and extended a hand to Harry to help him up. "Come on, Harry," she said softly. "That's enough for one day. We'll try again tomorrow. We still have time."

Not much of it, Harry frowned to himself. What precious time that they had left was quickly sifting away through the hourglass.

Lost deep in his musings, Harry made his was down to the Great Hall for lunch, staring thoughtfully at his feet. Ron had accused him of being bewitched into loving Malfoy. Even though he knew that he wasn't susceptible to the Imperius and he didn't  _think_  that Malfoy would have slipped him a love potion, something didn't sit right about the thought. It took him a moment to realize the issue, but once he did, it was obvious. Harry felt his something in his chest tighten at the thought that perhaps he didn't love Malfoy of his own volition, but the idea made sense. He wondered why he hadn't seen it before.

Picking up his pace, he hurried into the Great Hall and made his way to the Ravenclaw table, ignoring Ron's welcoming wave.

"Luna!" he cried as soon as he reached her. "Are Adulating Bombats real?" he demanded without preamble.

Luna smiled dreamily at him. "Hello, Harry. Care for some radishes? They're delightfully sharp today. They're making my tongue tingle."

Harry blinked distractedly. "What? – No. Just – Are they real or not?"

"Of course they aren't," Luna said with an indulgent smile. "Honestly, Harry… biting people's elbows to make them fall in love? The elbow is possibly the part of the body with the least romantic value. – Besides the ankles, of course. I made them up."

Harry felt his jaw hang open in surprise even as a flood of warmth swept through his body. Everything that he felt for Draco was real. "But…  _why_?"

"To help you out, of course," she said simply. "Silly Harry, you've been crazy about Draco for ages, except that you were positive you weren't gay so you didn't realize it. I just invented the Bombats to give you a little shove towards him. If you subconsciously didn't think that  _you_  were so desperately in love with him, you seemed much more open to the idea."

She took another radish, scraping away a layer of red skin with her teeth. Harry felt a rush of fondness towards her. Only Luna Lovegood could get away with creating an imaginary creature to make Harry realize his affection for Malfoy. He seized her in a crushing hug. "Luna, you're insane, but you're brilliant," Harry beamed before he swept off to the Slytherin table.

Harry didn't know what he was doing, except that he was filled with such a strong relief that his feelings for Draco were real, eliminating doubts he hadn't realized he possessed. Surrounded by a breathtaking sense of freedom, he glided towards the Slytherin table, his gaze locked upon the shining blonde beauty of the man that he loved.

From his place at the Slytherin table, Blaise glanced up to see Potter walking towards them, a radiant smile upon his face. Most faces in the Great Hall turned to stare as he walked past, wondering what Harry Potter could want with the Slytherins. Draco, his back to the advancing Gryffindor, was oblivious to his approach.

"What's he thinking?" Blaise whispered to himself. Hearing his words, Draco looked up and turned around, following his gaze.

"Merlin," Draco breathed, his eyes widening briefly. Without another word, he stood and carefully began to make his way towards the doors, looking for an escape from the Great Hall. Blaise knew that Draco was afraid of what Harry might do – that Harry might unthinkingly do something that would make their relationship public knowledge. Neither of them were ready for that – the publicity that would come if word got out. Blaise knew that Draco feared the press, feared what they would say about the Savior and the Last Death Eater. He watched with a feeling of resignation as Potter quickened his pace in an attempt to catch up with Draco.

"Draco!" Potter cried as he jogged the last stretch towards him, capturing the attention of the entire hall, which he seemed oblivious to. Draco's steps faltered uncertainly, half-glancing back over his shoulder before he began walking again. His brief pause was all that it took for Harry to catch up with him and snag his wrist, spinning the blonde around.

"Draco, it's real! They're not real!" Potter cried, his face shining with joy.

Draco stared back at Potter with wide eyes. "Potter, what –"

But Harry took advantage of Draco's open mouth to seize his lips in a kiss that had the Great Hall gasping. Draco froze, his eyes nervously sweeping around the Hall before something inside him seemed to melt as he gave in, returning the kiss.

Blaise shared a surprised look with Pansy. They both knew that Draco hadn't wanted his relationship with Harry to be public knowledge – when the time came, would it be easier or harder for Potter if the rest of the students and teachers knew that they had been involved? Blaise cast a quick glance around the Hall, taking in the wide range of expressions upon the faces of his classmates and professors.

Harry wrapped himself around Draco, reveling in his discovery and the feel of Draco's tongue against his. This was Draco –  _his_  Draco. And he had fallen in love with him all by himself, without the interference of love potions or Unforgivables or even an Adulating Bombat. There was no such thing. They weren't real.

But his feelings for Draco were.

Harry could have stayed there forever, locked in his sweet oblivion with just him and Draco, ignoring the scandalized whispers and outbursts that surrounded them in the Great Hall.

The blinding flash of a camera startled Harry's eyes open. He tore his mouth from Draco's, gasping in sudden mortification as he realized what he had just done. Glancing around in panic, Harry's gaze took in the many different expressions staring back at him. Many of his classmates looked appalled, staring at him with open contempt. Others flushed in shame as they met his eyes, quickly turning away. Some of them merely watched, mouths agape in shock while he noticed that several of the girls stared at him with faintly awed expressions.

Harry glanced uncertainly towards the Gryffindor table. Most all of the people whose opinions he cared about sat there. Ron's face had a slightly green tinge, but his lips twitched in a rather forced smile as Harry met his gaze. Hermione beamed openly at him, her eyes shining, and Harry had a suspicious notion that she was trying not to cry. Neville, Dean and Seamus were staring at him, slack-jawed with shock while Lavender and Parvati leaned against each other, sighing heavily and blinking at him dreamily. Tiny Dennis Creevy grinned cheekily at him, waving a camera and Harry felt something in his chest clench at Dennis' easy acceptance of his brother's role as Harry's head paparazzi.

His eyes nervously shifted towards Ginny and he was startled to find a faint smile curving upon her lips. "Well that explains a lot," she said, her voice laced with a relieved amusement. Harry felt something inside of him relax at her easy acceptance. If Ginny was willing to accept his denial of her as his newfound sexuality versus anything against her personally, that was, by all means, perfectly fine with him. His gaze drifted to Luna and he found her sitting angled towards him, her arms crossed over her chest in a self-satisfied way and a smug smirk painted across her face. The expression seemed so out of place on her usually serene features that Harry made a double-take.

His gut clenched as his eyes roamed nervously up to the staff table. Professor Regina Williamson was gripping a knife and fork so firmly in each of her hands that the metal almost seemed to bend. Her face was a brilliantly distressed red, almost perfectly matching the color of her vivid hair. McGonagall stared at him, her lips thinned tightly in her displeasure. But, as he watched, Harry saw them curve up into a small smile as she winked at him surreptitiously. Harry felt his face split into a broad grin as he stared back, feeling waves of relief washed over him.

Slowly, his smile slid off of his face as he turned back to face Draco, mentally cringing that Draco would be furious with him for his public display. In front of first years, none the less. Harry flushed with shame, feeling unease coil tightly in his stomach as he reluctantly lifted his eyes to Draco's, feeling very much like a chided puppy.

As his eyes met Draco's silvery ones, he felt his heart give a hopeful lurch. Draco looked down at him warmly, his lips curving up in a soft, indulgent smirk. "Potter, Potter, Potter," he murmured, his blonde hair swirling about the corners of his eyes as he shook his head fondly. "What are we going to do with you?"

Harry scowled at Draco, annoyed that the blonde made him feel like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar with his calm superiority. But his scowl melted into a sheepish grin as Draco lightly stroked a pale finger across his lips, sending a tingle of sensation throughout his body. Draco again shook his head, his expression tender as he looked down at Harry.

"What am I going to do with you?"

And Harry knew that he didn't care what anyone else thought – his classmates, his teachers, the newspapers, the public, damn them all. The only one whose opinion that he cared about was standing before him, his stormy eyes filled with an uncontested love.

And Harry knew that it was real.


	24. Love Mail, Hate Mail

Harry sat nervously in Muggle Studies, sandwiched between Luna and Ginny. After the display in the Great Hall, Ginny seemed to have forgiven him for shoving her aside, as she now able to accuse Harry's sexuality, rather than anything against her personally. She was much more accommodating towards him for it. Ron, too, seemed much happier with his denial of Ginny since he now had an excuse for the reasoning of it. Yet, that didn't stop him from assaulting Harry at random moments to whine, "But why did it have to be  _Malfoy_?"

No, what made Harry fearful during Muggle Studies that day were the nervously fluttering butterflies of anticipation that swooped around his stomach in lee of Arthur's response. He hadn't been present in the Great Hall during the event, and this was Harry's first Muggle Studies class since. He sat stiffly throughout the class period, trying to gauge Arthur's reactions to the knowledge of Harry and Draco's relationship. The Weasleys and Malfoys had a history of hating each other with a passion. Harry could only pray that Arthur could be accepting of his new partner.

But, as it turned out, he needn't have worried. As the class ended, Harry timidly approached Arthur's desk, only to be seized in a tight hug.

"I'm so happy that you found someone, Harry," Arthur murmured as soon as Harry was released, beaming into his face. "You and Ginny never seemed to be happy together; I'm glad that you have Draco."

"Me too, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, feeling his relief spread across his face in a bright smile. He was so lucky to have the Weasleys.

Yet, Defense Against the Dark Arts proved to have a polar opposite response.

From the moment Harry entered the Defense classroom and sat in his standard seat next to Draco, Williamson began to visibly seethe. "Now, now, boys," she said in sickly sweet tones, her hazel eyes narrowed dangerously, "behave yourselves. I wouldn't want any reason to be forced to separate you two." But Harry could tell from the metaphorical smoke billowing from her ears that she would have absolutely no qualms tearing them apart and he knew from the visible bristling of Draco next to him that the blonde knew it, too. The hostility towards Draco made her earlier reaction to Ginny seem positively friendly.

Williamson's eyes were underscored with purplish bruises that contrasted sharply with her too-pale face and her dark red hair. She looked as if she hadn't slept at all the previous night and her lesson seemed to be directed specifically to Harry and Draco as she shifted her glower between them for the entire class.

Towards the end of the class, Williamson handed back their last essays. While Harry had barely passed with an 'Acceptable', Draco, who usually passed with flying colors, received a 'T' for no obvious reason. Scowling at her blatant lack of impartiality, both Harry and Draco were relieved when the class period ended. They quickly scrambled out of the classroom the moment the period was over, leaving an amused Blaise and Hermione grinning after them.

* * *

Blaise frowned as he sat back on the desk, watching Draco pace before him in the empty classroom. A copy of the morning's  _Daily Prophet_  lay on the desk beside Blaise. The front page was decorated with Dennis Creevey's photo of Harry and Draco kissing in the Great Hall as well as individual shots of both of them – Harry, looking severely disgruntled, at some Ministry function after Voldemort's downfall and Draco, sneering heavily at the camera in front of Malfoy Manor after Lucius was sent to Azkaban. A bold headline filled the top of the page – " _Harry Potter, Hogwarts Heartthrob and World Savior – Turned Death Eater Supporter?_ " and below it, " _The Savior and the Last Death Eater – True Love or You-Know-Who's Final Plot?_ "

"I  _knew_  this would happen," Draco snarled, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "I'm not one of them – I never wanted to be one of them! But because I have this blasted  _brand_ , everyone expects me to be loyal to him. He's dead, for fuck's sake! He can't control me anymore, yet no-bloody-one believes that I'm anything less than loyal!" He whirled on Blaise, his eyes flashing in fury. "I hate the bastard! I  _hate_  him! He took away everything from me – my life, my parents, my respect, my  _everything_! Why the hell would I support him?"

"The Dark Lord is dead, Draco," Blaise said carefully, wetting his tongue with his lips. "But his legacy is not. As long as this generation is alive, people will constantly live in fear of him and his followers."

"I know," Draco sighed wearily. "And now everything between Harry and I is out in the open and people suspect me of trying to hurt him.

"But they're right, aren't they? By getting close to Harry, I'm only opening the doors to breaking him. And everyone knows it. I don't deserve to be with him, Blaise," Draco ran his hands through his platinum hair. "Harry's the fucking Savior and what am I? A Death Eater. And a bloody pathetic one, at that. It's a blessing that Harry killed the Dark Lord when he did, because if he hadn't, I'd have already been dead – killed for failing at every single task he set me to."

"Exactly, Draco!" Blaise cut in eagerly. "You were a failure as a Death Eater. Who better to be with the epitome of good than the one who is miserable at being evil?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "But no one knows that I couldn't kill anyone. No one cares. They simply think of  _this_  –" he jerked his left sleeve up forcefully, gritting his teeth together and Blaise flinched at the sight of the angry red of the Mark "– and they're automatically filled with hate. No one cares that I never wanted to be a Death Eater, that I never could torture anyone – all they care about is that I bear his Mark. That he fouled me with his brand, like a bloody Muggle's heifer. And now, to top it all off, that  _slug_  Creevey had to slip to the  _Prophet_  that bloody photograph."

"How's Harry taking it?" Blaise asked cautiously.

Draco abruptly halted his pacing, sinking tiredly into the nearest chair. "He doesn't care," he murmured. "He says that everyone whose opinions he cares about have already shown their support or indifference. He says he's proud of me – proud to show off our relationship to the public and he doesn't give a rat's arse if anyone else disapproves."

"And neither should you," Blaise nodded pointedly.

Draco sighed. "I don't care – not really. It just irks me to see the Malfoy name dragged down so low. There was a time when we were one of the most prestigious families in Europe. There was a time when no one would dare to accuse us of being anything less than respectable," he snorted. "Oh, how far away those days now seem, when our family name is scorned and dragged through the mud, Father dead and Mother broken, with only me to carry on the name. And I won't even be able to carry it long. And then, to top it all off, that bloody Williamson cow has to be such a damnable bitch and go and fail me for no reason except for her unrequited lust for Harry."

Blaise crossed the room towards Draco and grasped the blonde's hand tightly between his own. "You know that Harry and Granger won't give up looking for a way around the curse. And neither will I. There is still hope for you, still hope for the Malfoy name. You still have time. And as for Williamson? You said it yourself – everyone whose opinions you should care about have already shown their support of you."

"Not everyone," Draco said quietly, his eyes adopting a sudden glint. Blaise instantly knew that he was referring to Narcissa.

* * *

 

In the days leading up to Christmas, Harry's time seemed to fall into a continuous schedule. Each morning he would wake up, smile sleepily at the blonde sprawled in the bed beside him and they would share a lazy kiss. They would go to breakfast together, sitting alternately at one or the other of their house tables and fend off the owls that came bearing their hate- and support-mail. They would attend their morning classes before Harry slipped away into the library with Hermione, and sometimes Blaise and Pansy, to research ways to free Draco from his curse.

Pansy had agreed to join them, even though she held no hopes of success, simply shrugging that she and Blaise had already looked a hundred times for a solution in sixth year after they had found out about his becoming a Death Eater and the curse. She and Blaise hadn't found a way to stop the curse then, and she wasn't optimistic, even now that Harry and Hermione had joined in the search.

After lunch, they would attend their afternoon classes before returning to the library to continue their search before dinner. After the evening meal, Harry's time belonged to Draco. Whatever Draco wanted to do, if anything, Harry was game for. He treasured every single moment he spent with the Slytherin, living in a constant fear that every day spent with him could be his last.

And every day, the redness contaminating Draco's mark inched a little bit farther.


	25. Out Of Time

Harry chewed his lip thoughtfully as he walked through the crowded streets of Hogsmeade, his hands shoved into his pockets in search of warmth, his shoulder brushing against Draco's with his every step. In one more week, it would be Christmas Break, and Harry still had no idea what to get Draco. What did one get someone who already had everything, but might not be around to enjoy it?

Harry squashed that thought firmly. No. Draco would definitely be around. He would always be around. They would find a way to kill this curse before it could kill Draco.

But that still left the issue of Draco's Christmas present.

Harry and Draco continued to aimlessly window shop, not gaining any inspiration from the festive displays that they passed. From every side, Harry felt the stiff unease of the eyes of his classmates and strangers. It was the first time that they had been seen together in public since the start of their relationship, and people everywhere were eager and curious to see how they interacted. Harry was careful to ignore the weighted glances and he was both pleased and a little sad that Draco handled them just as well. The Slytherin's calculated indifference was a tribute to his familiarity in dealing with the public. As the infamous Last Death Eater, Draco was subject to almost as much fame as The Boy Who Lived to Save Us. How the public loved their little titles.

It was when they had reached the front of Honeydukes when Harry received the biggest shock of his life. With an extremely uncharacteristic giggle, the previously subdued Draco suddenly burst into life, leaping forwards and seizing the door handle, throwing it open wide as he disappeared into the welcoming warmth of the sweetshop. With a nonplussed smile, Harry gave himself a mental shrug and followed Draco inside.

The usually reserved blonde bounced from display to display, cooing excitedly over certain treats and generally, well, behaving like a child in a sweetshop. The people around him cast him wide-eyed stares, as if disbelieving that a Malfoy could behave in such a manner. Harry had to agree with them. There was nothing of Draco's usual dignity in his actions, and Harry loved it.

A full bag of sugary treats later, they stepped back into the streets, Draco flushing in mortification. "Sweet Merlin," he murmured, shaking his head. "I am so sorry, Harry, I just – I guess you could say that I have a major sweet tooth." He smiled apologetically and Harry could only grin in response, planting a sloppy kiss upon Draco's cheek.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said firmly as they trudged down the snowy streets to the Three Broomsticks. Harry wanted some privacy to share a drink with Draco, out of the way of the ever prying eyes of the shoppers and sneaky reporters. Draco's first choice was the Hog's Head, but Harry rejected that firmly. Fifth year's first Dumbledore's Army meeting had taught him that, if you wanted privacy, it was best to opt for someplace loud and crowded, where a quiet couple in a corner would go unnoticed rather than a quiet place where every sparse sound seemed to magnify tenfold.

They walked along, Harry teasing Draco about his bag of candy when Harry suddenly lurched forwards, feeling the solid wetness of a well-packed snowball slam into the back of his head and explode in his hair. He turned, half expecting to see some laughing classmate, ready to throw another. But all that greeted his sight was a little boy from the village, wearing a sneer most unbecoming of him.

"Faggot," the boy snarled.

Before Harry could even register the words, Draco's wand was out, trained on the boy as his eyes flashed a flat, slate grey.

"Run home, child," Draco spat dangerously, wearing a sneer that put the boy's to shame. The young boy blanched at the sight of the wand pointed between his eyes.

"I didn't mean anything by it, sir," he protested weakly.

"I said run home!" Draco hissed angrily. Without another word, the boy turned tail and raced down the street. Draco drew back his wand to hex the retreating figure, fury sparking in his eyes. "Little bastard."

"Draco, no!" Harry gasped quickly, nervously watching the gathered crowd. The last thing that they needed was for Draco to act like the Death Eater that everyone expected him to be, even if he was only doing so to protect Harry. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go."

Draco scowled after the boy but nodded tensely. Harry felt himself breathe a relieved sigh as the wand lowered. Harry quickly grasped Draco's hand with his own and squeezed lightly, trying to project calm through their joined hands. Draco looked up at Harry and smiled softly, brushing the snow from his dark hair.

"Are you alright?" he murmured.

Harry smiled back at him, feeling a contented sense of peace surge through him. "I'm fine."

Draco's fingers stroked through Harry's hair before brushing across his cheek to lightly trace Harry's lips. Harry's felt his breath catch in his throat as he stared into the warm affection shining from Draco's deep grey eyes. They had a timeless quality to them and Harry felt that he could have quite happily fallen into them, curled up and stayed forever, surrounded by the comfort of Draco's love for him. Smitten, Harry realized, did not quite sum up the depth of his feelings for the blonde.

"Come on," Draco said with a gentle smile, tugging on the hand that he held. They continued on their way to the Three Broomsticks for a much needed butterbeer.

The Three Broomsticks was, as could only be expected, packed with Hogwarts students and villagers alike. It seemed that the bitter chill of the air outside served to beckon everyone inside for a warming mug of butterbeer. The place was filled with the pleasant roar of a hundred conversations, none of which paused as Harry and Draco entered. Harry smiled smugly to himself. It was easier to get lost in a crowd than it was in a wide-open space.

"Harry! Draco!" a voice called from towards the back of the pub, barely heard over the surrounding noise. Harry turned to see Hermione waving at them, a broad grin spreading across her face. Seated at the table around her were Ron, Blaise and Pansy.

Arching a brow at Draco, Harry nodded towards their table, a question upon his face. Draco shrugged and smiled easily, threading his fingers through Harry's as Harry led him towards their friends.

* * *

 

Blaise smiled happily to himself as Draco and Potter joined them at their table, occupying the two previously empty seats at the end of the table, best hidden from view of the other pub patrons. He noted with satisfaction the delicate flush to Draco's cheeks, only partially from the biting wintery air outside. To anyone who knew Draco as well as Blaise did, that happy flush said it all – Draco was in love.

"Hello Draco, Harry," Pansy nodded to each of them in turn before seamlessly continuing her blabbering to Blaise. "So then I said to her, 'Millie, don't be ridiculous. Goyle's had the biggest crush on you since forever. Just go up to him and tell him how you feel! And she said –"

Blaise proceeded to tune her out, nodding blankly and humming in agreement at random intervals. He didn't care anymore about the state of Millicent and Greg's relationship than he had cared about learning how to look after flobberworms in Care of Magical Creatures. Either it would happen or it wouldn't, and he wasn't fond enough of either Millicent of Greg to have a preference of whether it did or didn't.

He happily swirled around his glass, watching the butterbeer spin round and round in a dizzying miniature waterspout. He was glad that Draco and Harry had found each other. They seemed perfect opposites, perfect balances, perfectly attuned to each other. Blaise had rarely seen any pair who  _clicked_ in synchronization as they did. He was thrilled that Draco had someone like Harry to spend the remainder of his life with… no matter how long or short that might be.

"Harry?" Weasley's nervous question shocked Blaise from his musings. "Are you alright, mate?"

Blaise glanced up, seeing Potter's face flushed and sticky with sweat, his arms trembling as he tightly gripped his mug of butterbeer with both hands.

"F- Fine!" he gasped.

"Harry," Hermione cut in worriedly, "you don't look well. We should get you up to the hospital wing!"

"N- No!" Harry said quickly, resting his head on his arms and looking for all the world as if he had come down with a sudden illness. "I'm f- fine!"

Blaise cut a quick glance at Draco and was surprised to see a devious smirk gracing his features. His hands were both suspiciously under the table. Blaise glanced back and forth from Draco's mischievous grin to Harry's trembling features and realization snapped in his mind.

"Draco!" he groaned, both amused and disgusted. "Merlin, get a room! And with us right here… You horny sod!"

"We have a room," Draco said innocently. "You all just happen to be in it."

As soon as Hermione, Ron and Pansy caught on to Blaise's meaning, their reactions were mirrors to his.

"Draco! That's disgusting!"

"Bloody  _hell_ , Malfoy! There are innocents present!"

" _Draco_!"

Harry's forehead hit the table with a mortified groan.

* * *

 

Harry lay awake that night, wrapped around Draco's sleeping form long after the rest of their roommates had drifted into the welcoming oblivion of slumber. He hugged Draco tighter against him, moving carefully as to not jostle him into wakefulness. As he looked down on his sleeping love, Harry felt something in his chest tighten. He had to find a way to save Draco. He  _had_ to.

He thought back to that fateful day, almost three months earlier, when they had taken their brewed Veritaserum. Harry had been shocked to discover that Draco had loved him, even more so that the sentiment had been whole-heartedly returned. Shifting his thoughts to today, Harry smiled fondly as he recalled Draco's sudden loss of all inhibitions at Honeydukes. Harry had never before seen Draco so open and free of the concerns of his image. And then in the Three Broomsticks… Harry flushed at the memory, curling in tighter to Draco. He couldn't believe that the blonde had actually done that, in the company of their friends and all of their classmates…

No, there was so much more depth to Draco than Harry ever would have thought before this year. It was almost a relief to see him so truly freed of the pressures placed on him by his family and Voldemort.

As his thoughts lighted upon Voldemort, Harry shivered with the memory of the curse. Careful not to wake his sleeping bedmate, Harry shifted Draco lightly so that he could pull back his pyjama sleeve. The Mark was almost completely red now, only the faintest sliver of its original black shone at the very top of the skull.

He was out of time.

He shivered against the sudden chill in the room, pulling the sleeve back to its original position as he refolded himself around Draco. Harry nuzzled his face into the back of Draco's head, breathing in his musky, lemony scent. What was it that Draco had said?  _The Dark Lord expected me to die… I had no choice in the matter_. He shivered, tugging the blankets up to his chin. Voldemort had expected Draco to die when he became a Death Eater. There was no way that Voldemort would have left a loop hole for the curse to be broken, was there?

But supposing there  _was_  a hole, how would he find it? What could possibly break through Voldemort's defenses; stop a curse in its tracks before it was completed?  _Reverse_  a curse?

Harry bolted upright in bed as a sudden thought struck him. Of  _course_! It was so simple.

Draco grunted sleepily at the disturbance, rolling over to blink up at Harry.

"Draco," Harry hissed at him in the darkness, careful not to wake any of his other roommates. "Can I borrow Phil?"

Draco mumbled a sleepy assent before immediately drifting back to sleep. Harry grinned brightly, planting a sloppy kiss on Draco's forehead before he shoved on boots and a jacket and seized his wand, invisibility cloak, the Marauder's Map, ink, a quill, and a roll of parchment.

He quickly jogged to the Owlery, a blinding grin illuminating his face with renewed hope.


	26. Curse Crumpler

Harry spent the next day waiting anxiously for Phil's return. He just  _knew_  that George would have a solution and it grated on him that he hadn't thought to ask him before. Of  _course_  George would know what to do – he and Fred had spent an entire year before the war creating different artifacts and devising different methods to expel dark curses from the body. George must have  _something_ that could free Draco from Voldemort's curse.

When Harry shared his thoughts with Hermione, Blaise and Pansy, Hermione tutted skeptically, thought the Slytherins seemed open to any help.

"Harry," she said carefully, "you can't use an object to break a spell, in the same way that a spell can't free you from the effects of a potion. You have the poison and the antidote, the object and its negative, the curse and its countercurse. You must always use the right tool for the job or everything will become unbalanced."

"But isn't that the point, though?" Harry argued. "We  _want_  the curse to unbalance. We want it to shatter and crumble. Besides, the Dark Mark could be considered an object, couldn't it?"

"It's not the same thing, Harry," Hermione shook her head. "The Mark isn't an object; it's just a physical manifestation of the curse. You've got to be careful with these things. If you try to use a magical object to rid a curse, it might only make matters worse, even if it  _was_  designed by Fred and George, two of the greatest magical inventors of our time.

"Don't you see, Harry? You of all people should know that it's best not to tempt fate."

Harry sighed heavily. "I know, Herm, I know. But what other options do we have? Draco doesn't have any more time and we haven't yet found any countercurse in all of the time we've been searching the library. We don't have options and I  _need_  to do something. I can't just sit by and let him die!"

Hermione sighed, stroking Harry's cheek with the back of her fingers in a calming gesture. "I know," she said in defeat, her chocolate eyes sad. "I know you can't. Just be careful, I want you to be safe."

"And I want him to live," Harry whispered, unsure whether Hermione had heard him or not.

When Draco's eagle owl finally returned, Harry was relieved beyond measure. It hadn't even been an entire day since Harry had first owled George, and Harry was both impressed and grateful that Philoctetes had been able to make the long journey from Wiltshire to London so quickly. Perhaps, he reasoned, the owl had sensed the urgency for his master's life.

As Harry moved to untie the parcel from Phil's leg, the finicky owl remained unusually still, allowing Harry to remove his precious burden without a fuss. He slit open the letter accompanying George's parcel and began to read.

> _Dear Harry,_
> 
> _I_ _must say that this is a rather unusual request – seeking a way to remove a curse from a Death Eater? Most abnormal. Still, your reasoning has always been your own. A bloke might start to put stock in the_ Prophet _!_
> 
> _While I have my doubts that anything I have will ensure complete freedom from any curse set by You-Know-Who himself, after the war I had much success with the Curse Crumpler. It's a mixture of a spell, a magical object and a potion, so to speak, and it has proven effective against most curses and hexes. The Curse Crumpler is the magical equivalent of a Muggle syringe – I stole the idea from Dad's fascination with the things. It's completely non-invasive, unlike those barbaric needles that Muggles use. Pulling the trigger activates a focusing charm to attune the syringe to its target. Once it locks on, a second spell vanishes the potion – a general antidote, enhanced by the special properties of the Curse Crumpler – directly into the bloodstream, perfectly dissolved and centered upon the origin of the curse. In the curses that it has proven to be effective in, it has shown to be fast-acting and thorough._
> 
> _The Curse Crumpler is my best bet for your purposes; I hope that it satisfies your needs. It is free of charge if you tell me the results of its use on your particular curse. For research reasons, of course._
> 
> _Wishing you the best of luck,_
> 
> _George, Proprietor of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, London_
> 
> _P.S. – Your new owl is a bitch."_

Harry glanced at the owl and had to agree. When he had tried to tie his letter to Phil's leg, Phil had bitten his ear rather sharply. It was still tender to the touch, and Harry had a mild suspicion that the owl borrowed shared certain personality traits with its master.

Hope ignited a torch in Harry's chest as he removed the Curse Crumpler from its casing. It looked for all the world like a Muggle pistol, save for the wicked-looking needle apparatus on the very end, filled with a viscous, dark yellow liquid. The contraption seemed to hum in his hands, making known the powerful magic that flowed through it. He frowned at the long, sharp needle at the end of the pistol. If Harry hadn't known George any better, he would have thought that the contraption was intended to harm Draco, rather than help him. As it were, he knew that George would never presume to mislead Harry, no matter how greatly he might despise the Death Eaters. The massive needle, however, did nothing to assure him of George's claims that it was completely non-invasive.

Harry chewed his lip nervously as he held the Curse Crumpler. Hermione had warned him of the effects of a magical object on a spell. Yet, George had stated with full confidence that the tool had been successful on the majority of the curses faced with the Crumpler. He had also said that it used a spell… If a spell, object and potion were all combined together, wouldn't it serve to enhance the good effects of the spell rather than the unbalancing qualities of the object and potion?

Harry hoped so. He  _had_  to save Draco. The Curse Crumpler had to save Draco. He didn't have any other option.

Sighing heavily, Harry tenderly placed the Curse Crumpler back into its box and wrapped it carefully. It wouldn't do to have it in anything less than mint condition. Skirting around Phil, Harry left the owlery to return to the South Tower, clutching his precious bundle safely to his chest.

* * *

 

Blaise looked up from his game of chess with Hermione when Harry entered the South Tower. Potter's emerald eyes were luminous with an excited fervor as he clung desperately to the squat, rectangular box in his arms as if it were his last anchor to mortality.

"Where's Draco?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Hermione frowned, rising from her seat before the comfortably roaring fire. "Is that from George?" she asked nonchalantly, though Blaise could see a hard glint in her eyes.

Harry shifted the box defensively in his arms, his chin set in determination. "Yes, it is," he said stiffly.

Blaise felt warning bells go off in his head as Hermione's lips tightened into a thin line.

"Harry James Potter, if you think for one moment that you are going to use an  _object_  to stop a  _spell_ , you are sadly mistaken."

" _Hermione_ ," Harry began with the air of saying something obvious to a young child. "George has said that he's already had much success against curses – against  _spells_  – with this  _object_. I trust his expertise in this matter."

"None of those curses were invented by  _Voldemort himself_!" Hermione argued. "For all we know, Voldemort set an – I don't know – emergency activation in the event of tampering, or something. You can't know that it won't merely speed the curse up or something!"

"Draco is  _out_  of time, Hermione," Harry said fiercely. "If it speeds the curse up, we'll likely have the same effect as doing nothing. I  _can't_  do nothing. If this course of action has even the slightest chance of success, then Merlin knows that I'm damn well going to take it!"

"But…"

"Potter, you have a way to possibly stop the curse?" Blaise interrupted, his voice low and his eyes intense. If Harry had any way to save Draco, even if it wasn't a completely guaranteed victory, Blaise was all for it.

Harry nodded tightly. "I do."

Blaise felt an immeasurable surge of relief flow through him. Even if it didn't work, they had to try something. "He's in the Astronomy Tower, let's go."

Harry's grin didn't quite meet his eyes, but he visibly relaxed under the knowledge that he had an ally.

"But…" Hermione tried again, but Harry cut her off.

"Herm, please," he begged her with wide green eyes. "You know that I have to do this. I've lost too many people because I didn't act when I was supposed to. Too many  _friends_. Because people got in between me and Voldemort. I can't let Draco be just another one of them. I can't lose him, too."

She bit her lip worriedly before reluctantly nodding. "Fine, but I'm coming, too."

Blaise shivered as they entered the Astronomy Tower. It made sense that the high, open tower would be frigid in the middle of December, but Blaise had never before been there so late in the year. He glared enviously at Draco's heavy cloak, wishing that he had thought to bring his.

Draco, his hair tousled carelessly by the biting wind and his cheeks rosy, turned to them in surprise before schooling his features into a look of icy indifference. Hermione's presence, Blaise reasoned, probably unsettled him; Draco was usually much more relaxed in the company of Blaise and Harry.

"Harry, Blaise, Granger," the blonde nodded to each in turn. "What calls for this pleasant visit?"

In response, Harry opened the box he carried.

Hermione gasped as she looked upon the object. Blaise frowned, eyeing the pointy end warily. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea? Draco merely cocked a questioning eyebrow.

"This is a Curse Crumpler," Harry proceeded to explain. "It's a –"

"Weasley product?" Draco interrupted.

Harry and Blaise both blinked at him in surprise. "How did you…?"

Draco rolled his eyes before smirking in amusement. "The giant 'W' engraved on the handle was the first clue." The smirk melted off of his face fluidly. "Harry, I don't want you to do this."

"Ah-hah!" Hermione cheered triumphantly. Blaise, Harry and Draco all sent her identical stifling glares and she shrank back.

"If you try to cure me, you'll only get your hopes for nothing. I don't want you to be hurt anymore than you have to be," Draco murmured, his silver eyes showing their first hint of softness as he looked upon Harry.

"I can't just let you die," Harry said, pulling the Curse Crumpler from its packaging before pointing it at Draco. "I'm sorry. I have to try." He squeezed the trigger and they all watched the yellow liquid slowly vanish from the glass tube, waiting with baited breaths to see what would happen.


	27. A Flash of Red

"What the  _fuck_  Potter?" Draco snarled as the liquid drained out of the Curse Crumpler. "I  _told_  you not to use that blasted thing on me! Just because you're the  _bloody_  Savior doesn't give you the liberty to hex whomever you bloody-well like. Just because you're Harry sodding Potter doesn't mean that you can just curse people at whim, does it?"

Harry froze, his mouth agape in shock as Hermione made a murmuring noise of agreement behind him. "I did it to save your sorry arse!"

"It doesn't matter  _why_  you did it, Potter. I told you not to and you still used it on me anyways!"

"Well did it work?" he snapped defensively, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the hurt of Draco's words, his own stupidity and the wintry chill.

" _No_ ," Draco yanked up his left sleeve angrily. "It did  _not_  w –" He drifted into silence, staring at his arm in wonder.

Harry tore his gaze away from Draco's eyes to look at the bared Dark Mark.

He felt his heart stutter in shock. The Mark was black. Completely, healthily black. Not a trace of red contaminated its surface.

Harry briefly wondered that he no longer considered Voldemort's sign as a contamination in itself, but as something healthy and pure. Harry firmly shoved the thought to the back of his mind. As long as Draco would be alright, he didn't care.

Grinning triumphantly, Harry raised his eyebrows expectantly at the flabbergasted Draco.

"It's…  _gone_ ," Draco said in awe. "It's all  _gone_." He looked up at Harry in wonder and Harry felt his heart melt into relief. He gazed into Draco's silver eyes, falling into their depths and curling up contentedly. Draco was alive. Draco was going to live. George deserved a year's supply of Yorkshire pudding and treacle tarts for the invention of the Curse Crumpler.

"Oh thank you, Merlin!" Blaise gasped, seizing Draco's neck in a crushing hug. "Thank Merlin it worked."

Draco blinked back and forth between them, seeming stunned.

"For Heaven's sake!" Hermione snapped in annoyance. "Harry, you can't curse people like that or you're no better than the Death Eaters! No offense, Draco."

"I didn't  _curse_  him," Harry argued.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione replied, "Maybe not, but it's the same principle, isn't it? You used that tool to force a potion into his body without his consent. That's abuse, Harry. That's rape-by-potion."

" _Hermione!_  I didn't  _rape_  him! I helped to heal him from his curse!"

"Rape, Harry, is any act of violation of the body. You didn't have to even touch him to rape him with that tool. You violated him – violated his wishes – by shoving that potion into his blood without his consent," her eyes flashed lividly. "It's the same thing, Harry."

"Leave it, Hermione," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Draco's alright!"

"Harry," Hermione continued, her eyes pleading. "Remember about the unbalancing effects of using an object against a curse. Don't get carried away with the good of the situation… remember that this mightn't be over yet."

* * *

 

Though Hermione's warning was a constant tingle in the back of his mind, a week had passed and still nothing bad had occurred. No sudden relapse, no tinge of red, no great unbalancing of the universe leading to world doom… Harry was finally able to relax.

With Draco's good health came the lifting of a monumental weight from Harry's mind. He felt freer than he had since Voldemort's death, almost as if it had been him, not Draco, who had been freed from the burden of the curse. In a way, he supposed that was partially true. Draco wouldn't have had to live with the completion of the curse – Harry, Blaise and Pansy would.

Pansy had been overjoyed to hear of Harry's success against the curse, but when Harry had shared his method with her, she, too, was displeased. She shared Hermione's sentiments on the usage of the proper method for the job.

In fact, it seemed as if everyone, with the sole exception of Blaise, was irritated with Harry for his usage of the Curse Crumpler. Hermione was livid, though more on the side of his ignorance of Draco's wishes than at the use of the Curse Crumpler itself. While she was miffed that Harry had ignored her advice over the usage of the Curse Crumpler, it was the ethics of the matter that grated on her the most. Draco, for his part, seemed more fondly exasperated than outright angry at Harry after the initial explosion, for which Harry was grateful. If Harry had finally saved Draco, found a way to keep him forever and then lost him because of a silly argument or misjudgment, Harry didn't know what he would have done. Blaise, on the other hand, was the epitome of happiness. He seemed perfectly content to ignore the methods in favor of the results. As long as Draco was alright – as long as his Mark was pure – Blaise was fine with however it had come about.

Without the worry of Draco's mortality hanging over his head, Harry was free to think about what he wanted to give Draco for Christmas. With the holiday mere days away, Harry was stricken with the perfect idea.

* * *

 

When they arrived in King's Cross Station for the Christmas holidays, Harry waved cheerful goodbyes to Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville who, Harry was pleased to note, cast adoring glances at Ginny. It hadn't taken Ginny long after the realization that Harry wasn't coming back to her for Ginny to accept Neville's advances. She seemed happier than Harry had seen her since Fred's death. The four of them - Hermione, Neville and the two Weasleys - would be spending Christmas at the Burrow this year while Harry intended to spend the holidays with Draco at Malfoy Manor.

Draco flashed a grin at Harry before taking his arm, Philoctetes the owl perched upon his shoulder and a featherweight charm had been placed upon both of the trunks that they clutched in their free hands. The nauseating, squeezing sensation of apparition washed through Harry before they arrived at imposing, decorative iron gates of Malfoy Manor.

"Intimidating, isn't she?" Draco murmured before whispering a spell and beckoning Harry into the wards.

Malfoy Manor was huge – bigger by far than Harry had remembered during his time in captivity there during the war. Towering at least six stories high, the Manor was a fortress of black marble and dark windows in the center of extensive, exquisite gardens.

He turned to Draco in surprise. "You  _live_  here?"

Draco shrugged casually. "Well, at the moment no one lives here. Unless you count a host of house-elves, that is, and somehow, no one ever does seem to count them…" He drifted off thoughtfully and Harry was hit with a sudden twinge of sadness at the recollection that Dobby had been one of the Malfoys' elves. He fervently hoped that, now Lucius was gone, the elves would be treated far more humanely than Dobby ever was.

"But yes," Draco continued with a smug smirk. "Eventually, this place will be mine. Grand, isn't it?"

"It's massive," Harry muttered in awe.

"And you haven't even seen the inside, yet," Draco's smirk widened. It was true – when they had been captured by the snatchers and brought to the Manor, he had been far too preoccupied to see much of the manor other than the cold winecellar in the basement.

As it turned out, apart from the entry hallway, they didn't see much of the house other than Draco's quarters. Draco's rooms were, Harry noticed, larger than the Dursleys' entire home. A large sitting room opened out to the gardens with a window that spanned the entire wall, giving way to a beautiful view of the English countryside and Narcissa's rose garden. An empty doorframe to one side of the room led to Draco's bedroom, bathroom and a closet that was roughly the size of Harry's old bedroom in Privet Drive. The ceiling of Draco's bedroom was elegantly decorated in a pattern of two- and three-dimensional painted roses. The entire setup was colored in tastefully-neutral shades of cream, tan, dark brown and an earthy green.

Harry was surprised by the coloring – he had half expected the proud Slytherin's room to be decorated with silver and emerald serpents. When he told Draco as much, the blonde merely snickered.

"And is your bedroom decorated in shades of scarlet and gold, Potter? Perhaps with an ornamental lion on each bedpost?  _Please_  tell me that you have more taste than that."

As the next day dawned, Harry and Draco rose to meet Narcissa in St. Mungo's. Harry had been hesitant to intrude upon a private meeting between Draco and the mother he hadn't seen in months, but Draco had assured him that he wanted Harry there.

"I want to tell her about us," he had said softly, examining his shoes in an uncharacteristic case of nerves. Harry found that he couldn't refuse.

An hour later saw Harry and Draco outside of the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo's. Draco swallowed heavily, leaning against Harry for support. Harry almost believed that he could smell the blonde's fear, heady and bitter among the stifling, ever-present stench of St. Mungo's lavender.

"I hate seeing her like this," Draco whispered. "She used to be so beautiful and strong." He took a steadying breath and opened the ward door.

The ward reminded Harry of an upgraded version of the South Tower. Scattered around the room were numerous four poster beds, some with the curtains closed tightly and others wide open in their emptiness. In the middle of the room was a large, comfortable-looking sitting area, and a few chairs sat at both of the tall windows spanning both corners of the far wall. Harry frowned at the two beds between the windows, their curtains drawn tightly shut. He wondered if perhaps he should pay a visit to the Longbottoms while he was here, before deciding against it. They might appreciate the gesture, but they wouldn't remember it anyways. Yet, the thought brought a new question to his mind.

"Draco, does Neville know that your mother is here?"

"Longbottom? Probably," Draco shrugged, his eyes locked upon a lone figure seated before one of the windows. "We don't speak to each other."

Harry followed Draco's gaze to the woman seated by the window before he followed Draco to her side.

"Hello, Mother," Draco said warmly.

Narcissa looked up with wide, innocent blue eyes that had yellowed sourly around the edges. Her hair was patchy and bedraggled, as if she had torn great chunks from it in a spurt of rage or despair. Her skin was pale and blotchy, seeming to hang off of her skeleton in places. Harry recalled how she had looked in the Manor when he had been held captive there. This withered wraith was incomparable to the strong, beautiful woman he had seen then, even though she had been living in constant fear at the time. Harry felt a great pity swell up in his heart for the wretched woman and the emotion shocked him to the core. Pity was one emotion that should never apply to the proud, elegant and powerful Narcissa Malfoy.

"Draco?" she extended a trembling hand, which Draco brought to his lips before clasping between his own. "I'm here, Mother. Merry Christmas."

"Draco, darling! Please, take a seat, take a seat," she gestured to the two seats beside her before turning glassy eyes upon Harry. "And who's your friend?"

"This is Harry, Mother, my partner," Draco informed her as they took a seat.

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said politely, holding out his hand for her to shake.

"Partner, eh?" A glint shone in Narcissa's eyes, the first light that they had seen since their arrival. "It's nice to meet you, Harriet."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry as expecting him to laugh. Harry thought that Draco should have placed more trust in him. He didn't think that he had ever seen anything  _less_  funny than his broken mother.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Malfoy. Draco has told me many wonderful things about you."

"Wonderful boy, isn't he, Harriet? What a blessing he's been in my life," she patted Draco's hand fondly.

"Mother," Draco said carefully, squeezing her hand. "We have wonderful news."

He lifted up his left sleeve, but the smile slid off of his face in fear as what little color was in Narcissa's face drained. "No! Not him, too!  _Not him, too!_ " Narcissa wailed, fisting her hands in her hair and pulling sharply. "Not him! Not him, too!" Her fingernails found a way to her face, digging in and leaving long, red trails in her papery flesh.

As a frantic Healer rushed over, Draco's eyes tore away from his mother's face and shifted down to his left forearm. The blood drained from his face before his eyes lifted to meet Harry's.

"Harry," was all he whispered, his face stricken. In the corner of his eye, Harry saw a flash of red.


	28. Dancing In The Stars

Harry stared in mounting horror at the blood-red tinge that contaminated the tip of the snake's tail on Draco's Mark. Hermione had warned him that it could return, but everything had been going so well… nothing could have convinced him that the curse might not have completely shattered. He had firmly believed that Draco was free – that George's Curse Crumpler had done its job.

But now? Now he was staring at the evidence that that was no longer true.

Draco quickly yanked his sleeve back over the mark before the Healer saw it, and Harry remembered where they were. Narcissa released a panicked sob, rocking back and forth in her chair, doubled over and clutching at her hair while the Healer tried to calm her. Draco watched her with stricken eyes and Harry longed to hold him, to draw him into his arms and comfort him. He resisted, but only just.

A second Healer came towards them, apologizing with soft eyes. "I'm going to have to ask you both to leave while we sedate her, I'm afraid," she said gently. "You may return to see her tomorrow, when she's had a chance to calm down, if you would like."

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, pulling Draco to his feet and leading him out of the ward. "Take care of her."

A sad smile graced the Healer's lips. "We do our best."

Harry took one look at the shell-shocked expression written across Draco's features before tightly wrapping his arms around the blonde from behind. Planting a comforting kiss below his ear, Harry apparated them both to the Manor. He drew Draco into the house and sat him before the fireplace in his sitting room, lighting a fire to help ward off the wintry chill. From his perch by the door, Phil sat watching them both with his piercing, unsettlingly silver gaze.

Harry settled into the seat beside Draco, cuddling the blonde against him. He was terrified by the emptiness in Draco's eyes and held him close. The gesture seemed to awaken something in Draco, for his entire body tensed even as he relaxed into Harry's embrace. Draco began to tremble, leaning heavily against Harry, his face tucked into Harry's armpit, out of Harry's sight.

It was a few moments before Harry realized that – oh Merlin – the mighty Draco Malfoy was  _crying_. Harry had expected rage – rage against Harry, rage against Voldemort, rage against himself… He had never thought in all of his wildest imaginings that Draco could ever seem so utterly  _broken_. This boy in front of him, draped across his lap, clutching desperately at his arm and creating a wet patch in the shoulder of his shirt with his tears – he could see this boy being the son of the miserable woman in St. Mungo's. They were both broken, like mother like son. Where was the proud, haughty and arrogant  _Draco_  in this crumbled shell of a man?

"Hey," Harry smoothed pale blonde hair back from Draco's face, murmuring softly to him. "Hey now, it's alright, we'll deal with this." Harry felt a twinge of guilty relief that Draco's sorrow enabled him to stay strong, gave him something to ground himself in the face of the numbing horror of the curse's return.

"Merlin, I'm sorry," Draco said in a choked whisper, fisting his hand over his eyes. "I'm so sorry that I brought you – that you had to see that. I thought it would help her, I thought –" he swallowed hard, burying his face into Harry's shoulder with a muffled sob. Harry tightened his arms around Draco's trembling shoulders, offering what little comfort that he could.

"The Mark – this morning it was completely black. I thought her seeing it that way would help… I thought she would be  _pleased_."

Harry shook his head forcefully, knowing that the blonde would be able to feel it even if he couldn't see it. "You couldn't have known," he murmured hoarsely, pecking a slow, tender kiss on the top of Draco's head. "It was my fault. I thought that I could cure you… I thought that I could save you. That I  _had_  saved you."

"Stupid Gryffindor," Draco chuckled humorlessly, turning to straddle Harry so that they were facing each other on the armchair. He cupped Harry's face between his hands; Harry's eyes fluttered shut at the contact. "You can't save everyone."

Harry felt his heart stutter, hundreds of faces flashing past behind his closed eyelids. Dumbledore. Snape. Sirius. Remus. Tonks and her father. Colin. Cedric. Fred. Mad-Eye. Dobby. Crabbe. Lucius Malfoy. Barty Crouch. Amelia Bones. Emmeline Vance. Florean Fortescue. Charity Burbage. Bathilda Bagshot… Hell, even Rufus Scrimgeour… the list went on and on, some faces that he recognized, most that he didn't. All lives taken by the war – all people whom he had failed. People he couldn't save. And then there were those who hadn't yet died, who still lived on the brink – Narcissa.  _Draco_.

"If I can't save _everyone_ , why in hell can't I at least save  _someone_?" Harry growled in frustration.

The press of a long finger against his lips startled Harry's eyes open. He blinked up into a fierce silver gaze, inches from his own. "Excuse me, Potter, but would you please stop stealing the spotlight? This was  _my_  pity party,  _my_  mope-fest. This was why I hated you for years, don't you know? You always managed to steal my glory." He shook his head fondly, the tear tracks upon his cheeks only enhancing the staggering silver of his glinting eyes. "You already have saved me, Potter," Draco growled. "Don't you dare forget that."

His lips met Harry's in a hard, hungry kiss flavored with love, self-loathing, sorrow, anger, lust and a mutual ecstasy that drove all concerns from both of their minds.

When they finally broke apart, Draco leaned his forehead against Harry's as they both panted heavily. "Dammit, Draco, I am  _not_  losing you," Harry snarled breathlessly. Draco silenced him with a gentle, leisurely press of lips, undemanding and faintly salty with the remnants of their combined tears.

"We'll be alright, Harry. We'll be alright. You and I are dancing in the stars."

* * *

 

The next morning found Harry in the Manor's colossal library. He knew that Draco was under no illusion as to Harry's motives, but the blonde had tactfully remained silent, disappearing off to Merlin knew where. While he might not approve, he knew that this was something that Harry simply had to do.

Harry tipped back his shot of firewhiskey, grimacing as the bold taste of the small portion of Draco Juice made his head whirl. He knew that he shouldn't be drinking while he searched for a way to free Draco from Voldemort's curse, but after two hours of no success, Harry needed something to settle his anxiety. He had thought that Draco was freed from the curse – now he only found that he was back to square one, minus the help of Hermione. How was it that Hermione managed to know everything that wouldn't help, but nothing that would?

Harry felt backed into a corner, trapped, crushed beneath the weight of Voldemort's curse. There had to be an answer somewhere in this massive library filled with all sorts of dark books that couldn't be found at Hogwarts, he just  _knew_ it.

With an angry roar, Harry threw his empty shot glass against a wall. He had been searching for hours and there had been no progress in seeking out a cure. Rubbing a hand across his forehead, Harry sighed deeply. Setting aside his current book, he went to seek out Draco. How could he concentrate on saving Draco's life when he was so filled with desperate anger? He was getting nowhere.

When Harry reached the third floor of the Manor, the dark tones of a grand piano rose to meet him. With a bemused smile, he followed the melancholy music to what he presumed to be the Manor's West Wing. Harry absently thought that there were so many rooms in this house that it was a wonder Draco had explored all of them.

Harry entered the lone room at the far end of the hall and was greeted by the sight of Draco, seated at a beautiful, shockingly gold piano that seemed to accent the gold veins in the marble of the black walls around him. He, with his golden piano, white blonde hair, pale skin and dove grey shirt, was the only wash of color in the entire room. He seemed to glow in his delicate luminosity, an angel of beauty as his eyes closed and his body moved faintly to the heartbreaking swell of the enchanting music. Harry stood by the door, leaning against the frame, crossing his ankles and arms, watching the blonde angel silently, unwilling to shatter the serenity surrounding him. He was quite sure that the expression upon his face was no less than smitten as he smiled fondly at the blonde. Draco was completely in his element, swaying to the music as his elegant fingers danced over the unusual golden keys and Harry stood entranced.

"Mother used to play this song all the time when Father wasn't home," Draco spoke suddenly, not opening his eyes. Harry started in surprise - he hadn't realized that Draco knew he was there. "This was her piano. Father always thought that this song was too sad. He used to like her to play the darker music." His fingers suddenly stiffened, his shoulders tensing as he struck a series of chilling, violent chords. Silver eyes flickered open, reflecting flecks of gold from the grand piano before him as they fastened upon Harry's.

Harry's throat tightened at the warmth, caught up in that gaze, unable to break free. "I didn't know you played," he said softly.

Draco's lips curled up in a sultry, teasing smirk. "Only for you."

Harry grinned back as Draco stopped playing, straddling the piano bench to face him. "Come here, Potter."

Before Harry's mind could even process the words, he was across the room, curled up in Draco's arms. Draco gave an amused chuckle at Harry's unabashed snuggling into his chest. "You're such a girl, Harry."

Harry scowled, his arms folded petulantly across his chest. "Am not."

"No, perhaps not," Draco raised an appreciative pale brow, glancing up and down Harry's body. Harry felt his pants tighten, his body showing its interest in the attention of his lover. Pressing a chaste kiss to Harry's cheek, Draco smirked. "But you're gorgeous just the same, and you're mine."


	29. Deception And Trust

Blaise's brow furrowed as he turned over in his sleep. He had been dreaming that he was flying, soaring over the Scottish countryside on his Nimbus. But suddenly, with a loud  _whoosh_  that was incongruous with the pop of apparition, Draco's head was floating in the air beside him. Frowning worriedly at his friend, Blaise's mind jumped immediately to conclusions.

"Draco, you can't just apparate into thin air! Look, you've gone and splinched yourself!"

Draco's eyebrow quirked in an amused smirk. "How can I splinch if I haven't apparated?"

Blaise gasped widely, pulling his broom up short. "You haven't apparated? But – then you're dead! How could I have missed this? You – You were cured! The red curse was gone!"

Draco sighed. "Blaise, just wake up."

Blinking in confusion, Blaise frowned again. He  _was_  awake, wasn't he? But then, Draco was always right. Maybe if he just opened his eyes a bit wider…

"There," Draco smiled, his head sticking out of the fireplace next to Blaise's bed. "Good morning, Blaise."

"Draco? Why are you here this early?" Blaise frowned out the window at the grey morning, the faintest trace of orange on the horizon.

Looking suddenly nervous, Draco bit his lip hesitantly. "I… Well, Harry's not awake yet."

"Good for him," Blaise scowled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Er… yeah."

Blaise sighed. "Well, what's so important that you didn't want Potter to know and had to bug me in the wee hours of the morning for?" He found his curiosity piqued, despite the Merlin-accursed hour of the morning. He didn't want Potter to know… Blaise found his gaze inexplicably drawn to the pinkness of Draco's lower lip, clenched between his white teeth.

Draco's silvery eyes were agitated as the sky in a storm, reflecting a reddish tinge from the flames surrounding his head. "I…" he glanced around, increasingly flustered, before he finally shoved his left hand through the Floo. "This," he said softly, biting his lips again.

Blaise's eyes followed the movement of Draco's teeth. He could still vividly recall the feel, the taste of Draco's lips against his own. He mentally slapped himself. It was over between them. Draco had Harry now, and he was happier with Harry than he ever had been with Blaise. Draco had never really loved Blaise, he knew. His heart had always belonged to Potter. Blaise knew this and he was glad for Draco, glad that he had found what he had always desired. Draco had Harry, and Blaise had… no one. He was glad for Draco, he really was. But he couldn't quite quell the small, hopeful part of him that had latched on to Draco's lips, helpfully resurrecting the memories that Blaise had long ago quelled. Yet, Blaise knew that Draco wasn't here to play host to should-have-been-buried memories and fantasies. That was not the reason he had stuck his arm – his left arm – through the Floo. Slowly, Blaise looked down at the bared Dark Mark and felt his eyes grow wide, his mouth dropping open in horror.

"But… It was supposed to be healed, it… but… when?  _How_?" he stammered , now wide awake as his heart leapt into his throat, doing a tap dance while his stomach plummeted, threatening to become one with his toes.

There was just so  _much_  of it. So much red.

"A few days ago," Draco shifted uncomfortably. "When I went to visit Mother."

"But… how?" Blaise pleaded again, his voice small. Over and over again, his eyes followed the expanse of red decorating Draco's mark. "How?"

Draco shrugged, his shoulders briefly appearing in the flames before vanishing again. "I don't know. I guess Granger was right about the unbalancing effects."

Blaise frowned as a new thought wormed its way through the panicked mesh of his mind. "But why was it so important to tell me when Potter wasn't around?"

A pink lip was once again trapped between unforgiving lips. "Harry doesn't know," Draco said softly, begging Blaise to understand with his eyes. Blaise's eyebrows sank to meet the top of his nose. How could Harry  _not_  know? "I've been using a glamour… I don't want him to know how far gone it is. It's happening so much quicker this time, Blaise."

Blaise's brows met in the middle, creating parallel worry lines above them. "It's changing faster, but Harry doesn't know? You think it's wise that way – that Harry won't have time to prepare for it before it happens? Do you want it to be a complete shock to him?" Blaise felt his voice rising in anger. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, that has got to be one of the most stupid ideas that I have ever heard, and believe you me, I have heard quite a few  _stupid_  ideas." He shook his head forcibly. "Do you want Harry to be even more broken when it happens – because he didn't see it coming? Harry would never forgive you, Draco. And worse – he would never forgive himself."

Draco's eyes closed tightly as if he were in pain. "How  _can_  I tell him, Blaise? When he already blames himself that the curse came back? He's already wearing himself out, searching desperately through the Manor's library every day. If he knew how far gone the curse was – that it was only happening faster because of something that  _he_  did, how much worse would it get? Harry already hates himself because the Curse Chewer – whatsitcalled – didn't work. He would  _loathe_ himself if he knew that it had only sped the process up."

Blaise sighed heavily, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do what you think you need to do, Dray. I'll get in touch with Hermione and see if she can help. You're right in one sense, at least – Potter can't be forced to do this alone. It isn't healthy for him and he'll only blame himself all the more."

"Thanks, Blaise," Draco murmured as he prepared to leave the fire. "Thank you for understanding."

The fireplace gave a green flare as Draco's head and arm vanished. Blaise swallowed tightly in the suddenly very small and very lonely room. "I _don't_ understand, Draco," he whispered into the silence. "But you mean the world to me and Harry means the world to you, so I'll do my best to help you help him."

* * *

 

"Merry Christmas," Draco said softly as Harry stirred, blinking open heavy eyes.

Harry gave a sleepy smile, feeling his heart swell as he looked into the silver eyes, inches from his own. Draco's hand was pillowed under his cheek as he lay on his side, facing Harry. With another smile, Harry realized that Draco was dressed from head to foot in Harry's clothes – his worn, baggy denims with a blue plaid, cotton button-up.

"Merry Christmas," Harry hummed as Draco planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "So what did you get me?" he teased.

Draco shoved his shoulder playfully. "Get up and get dressed and you'll see for yourself!" Draco rolled out of bed and stretched, his arms high over his head. Harry found his eyes drawn to the tantalizing glimpse of pale skin at Draco's waist where the shirt rode up and parted from his low-slung jeans. He felt his mouth go dry.

"Well hurry up, Potter," Draco sneered, but there was none of the old malice in his fond gaze.

Harry grumbled as he climbed out of bed to throw on the nearest pair of slacks – they happened to be Draco's. Briefly wondering at the oddity of wearing each others' clothes, Harry shook his head and decided to ignore it. Draco's high-quality cotton slacks were much more comfortable than his own woolen trousers, at any rate. Tugging a dark grey jumper over his head, Harry followed Draco out of his bedroom.

Draco's sitting room had been decorated over the night – Harry presumed by the house elves. The mantle over the fireplace was covered in holly leaves and tinsel, glittering fairy lights scattered among them. A large evergreen stood proudly before the window, a breath taking image looking out over a field of white snow. The tree was decorated with tinsel and fairy lights to match the fireplace – simple but stunning, and under the tree lay a small pile of gifts. Over the door was a sprig of mistletoe. Harry raised a brow at the mistletoe, earning himself a blush and a shrug from Draco.

"Come on," Draco prodded again, already sitting at the tree.

Harry grinned at him. "Eager, are we?"

Draco scowled. "Sit your arse down and open your bloody presents!" Draco was already tearing at the wrapping of one of his own gifts.

Harry chuckled, watching Draco fondly for a moment before sitting next to him and pulling a lumpy parcel that looked suspiciously like a Weasley jumper towards himself. He smiled to himself as he read Draco's name on the present. Mrs. Weasley was showing her acceptance of Draco into the family.

Two Weasley jumpers, several boxes of chocolate frogs and two generous boxes of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products later, Harry opened a present from Hermione. It was, as could be expected, a book. Mildly interested, Harry turned over the book to read the front cover, but felt his mouth drop open in horror, his face trying to simultaneously flush and pale and achieving an ugly puce color.

" _Hermione,_ " Harry moaned. "I am going to  _kill_  that woman. What was she bloody  _thinking_? Where does she get off on this?"

When Draco arched a pale eyebrow at him, Harry slowly raised the book so that he could see, wincing. Draco silently read the cover before perfectly mimicking Harry's horrified expression. "Why in the name of Salazar's bollocks would anyone buy that book? Let alone as a  _present_?"

Harry laughed weakly. "Well, I guess that's Herm for you. Blunt as the end of a broomstick." He carefully set  _Sodomy for Dummies_  aside, quickly reaching for the next package.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Draco exclaimed suddenly. "Blaise and Granger have been spending entirely too much time together." Harry looked up to see Draco holding a coiled whip, a large dildo and two pairs of steel handcuffs. "This is beyond ridiculous."

Chuckling softly, Harry planted a kiss to the irritated wrinkles on Draco's forehead. "It's alright, Draco," he said with a teasing smile. "We'll put them to good use later."

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he reached for his next present.

Soon, there was only one parcel left, a lumpy, weirdly shaped box. Draco pressed it into Harry's hands with an uncharacteristically timid smile. When he raised a curious eyebrow at Draco, the blonde merely gestured for Harry to open the gift before nervously wringing his hands in his lap.

It was from Draco, that much was obvious. However, from looking at the package, that was the only thing Harry could determine. It was a strange shape, yet as beautiful as everything that Draco did. Harry frowned at Draco's reaction. Was he expecting Harry to be displeased with what he found inside? Harry wasn't sure he could be displeased if Draco had given him a dead rat covered in blast-ended skrewt dung, just so long as Draco had given it to him. Mind you, he  _would_  be rather upset if Draco gave him a blast-ended skrewt. He shuddered mentally in remembrance. Vile creatures. Figuring that nothing could be worse than a blast-ended skrewt and the package didn't look quite big enough to contain one, Harry carefully lifted the shimmering wrappings from the box and lifted the lid.

Harry's face broke into an amused grin as he lifted the bottle of Draco Juice from its wrappings. "So that I don't have to share yours anymore?"

Draco gave an indignant huff, folding his arms across his thin chest. "Malfoys don't  _share_ , Potter."

"Of course not. They just offer their drinks to their enemies while they're sitting on rooftops," Harry smirked.

Rolling his eyes, Draco scowled, "I was  _drunk_ , Potter. There are exceptions to everything."

Harry leaned closer to Draco, a small, evil smile upon his lips. "Of course there are…" he paused for a moment, his expression growing even more devious. "…Malfoxy."

"Don't call me that," Draco swatted playfully at Harry's arm.

"Why not? I was  _drunk_ , Malfoy," Harry grinned, throwing Draco's words back at him.

Draco's lips curved up in amusement before the smile abruptly slid off of his face. "There's more in the box," he said carefully, jerking his chin towards the gift. Harry noted his tense expression with concern. They hadn't yet gotten to the gift that Draco was worried about, and Harry wasn't sure that he wanted to find out what it was. Was it something that Draco was just embarrassed about, or was it something he thought would hurt Harry? Or hurt himself?

Harry dug the small, velvet box out of the wrappings and examined it with interest. It looked like something that jewelry would come in. A rush of excitement gripped him. Had Draco gotten him a ring? The romantic side of Harry swooned at the notion while the skeptical side shook its head. There was no way that Draco Malfoy would ever buy someone a _ring_. Slowly, Harry peeled the lid off of the box.

It  _was_  a ring. But not the kind that Harry had expected. Nestled among the box's silk lining sat a ring designed of two coiled silver snakes with emerald eyes, one rearing proudly and the other wrapping around its neck. On the thick band before the two was an engraved letter 'M' in a flowing script. The Malfoy family ring.

Harry looked up at Draco, his heart seeming to be intent upon leaping out of his throat. "Draco, what…?" he tried to phrase the question, but was at a loss for words.

Staring at the ring as though it held all of the answers to life, Draco swallowed hard. "I want you to have it," he said carefully, his gaze never leaving the ring. Harry wished that Draco would look at him; he hungered to know the story written in Draco's eyes. "I wear my fathers," Draco held up his own hand, displaying a ring that was the twin to the one in the box in Harry's hands, "and I want you to have mine."

Although Draco didn't say it, Harry heard the unspoken intent in his words.  _I want you to have mine. I want you to_ be  _mine._  Draco was asking Harry to join his family.

Harry felt his heart give an insistent bash against the roof of his mouth as it tried to leap even higher. "Yes," Harry whispered, gently removing the ring from the silk box and slipping it onto his finger. "Merlin, yes." He knew that it was too early; he knew that he was only eighteen, that he had his whole life ahead of him after he saved Draco, but he didn't care. He knew that never, as long as he lived, would he want to be with anyone other than Draco sodding Malfoy, the irritating, spoilt, obnoxious, endearing, beautiful and wonderful git.

Draco's eyes did lift to his own then, his face lighting up first in disbelief, then hope, and finally joy, although Harry could have sworn he saw undertones of pain. The Slytherin leaned forwards to seize Harry's lips in a kiss that began fierce and radiant before melting into the sweetness of lingering lips that left Harry's heart humming.

"The tree seems to be lacking a gift," Draco murmured against Harry's lips and Harry smiled.

"Come outside," he said gently, though it was several minutes before either of them moved, unwilling to part from their tender embrace.

As they stepped out of Malfoy Manor onto the snow-blanketed ground, Harry reached out a hand towards Draco. "Trust me?" he asked softly.

Draco smiled and took Harry's hand with his own. "To the end of the world."

Harry felt a rush of warmth tingle through him at the words before he apparated them both away.

Draco gasped as they landed, looking around him in wonder. "Paris, Potter?" he asked in disbelief.

Harry smiled in delight at Draco's response. "The Eiffel Tower. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's incredible," Draco murmured as Harry directed him towards a small table for two at the top of the Tower, decorated with a large vase of red roses. He uncorked a bottle of champagne and offered some to the blonde.

"I've got it just for us for the afternoon," Harry said, suddenly uncertain. What if Draco thought he was being too much of a romantic sap? The feel of a smooth metal band around his finger dispelled that notion. "Muggle repelling charm, they all think that it's rusted and in need of repairs."

" _Paris_ , Potter," Draco repeated, sounding awed.

Harry's lips quirked in a shy smile, "Just for lunch, we have many more places to go yet." He hesitated before evenly meeting Draco's gaze. "When we were Veritaserum testing, you said you wanted to see the world. I wanted to give it to you."

Draco cupped Harry's chin in his hands. "You already have, Potter," he kissed the tip of Harry's nose. "You already have." His next kiss fell fully upon Harry's lips and Harry felt his insides melt.

Draco's soft chuckling parted their lips. "Look at me, Harry," he whispered. "Draco Malfoy, instant sap: just add Potter."


	30. Not Your Fault

The instant Harry and Draco arrived on the Hogwarts Express to head back to the school, Blaise snatched Draco's arm and dragged him into the next compartment where they began to have a furious whispered argument. Harry frowned after them for a moment before turning back to Hermione and Ron.

"Herm, you were right," Harry rubbed an agitated fist across his scar. "It didn't work. The Curse Crumpler just… I don't know,  _delayed_  it for a few days. The curse is back." He sighed heavily, "I'm sorry, I should have listened to you."

"I know," Hermione said softly, laying a comforting hand on his knee. "Blaise told me. But you can't blame yourself - you were desperate. You had an option, so you took it. It's one of the things that makes you Harry Potter – jumping into situations without thinking about it first." The hand on his knee squeezed gently. "You were just being noble and brave and incredibly stupid." She gave him a wry smile "Everything that is Harry Potter."

"And now we're back to square one," Harry sighed, resting his head in his hands. Hermione was right; it was because Harry was stupid that they had gotten into this mess. If he had killed Voldemort sooner, so many less people would have died. Draco wouldn't have taken the Mark yet, he wouldn't have been cursed. If he had only killed Voldemort sooner, none of this would have happened. Draco's life would be saved, as would Dumbledore and Snape and Moody and Fred and Colin and Remus and Tonks and Sirius and… and he and Draco could go on merrily hating each other for the rest of their long, peaceful lives, never knowing what they were missing, never finding the comfort of each others' embrace, never knowing that they were desperately in love with each other and… No. That wasn't what Harry wanted either.

"Er… mate?" Ron's voice interrupted Harry's thoughts. "Did you ever try Parseltongue? I mean, it was You-Know-Who's specialty, wasn't it? What if that's the key to freeing someone from the curse? When he first cast the curse, he would have been the only Parselmouth in the world. When he found out that you, too, were a Parselmouth, he wouldn't have been arsed to change it, would he? I mean, he would never have expected you to want to save a Death Eater's life, right?"

Harry and Hermione both blinked at Ron in surprise. Hermione was the first to snap out of her daze. "Ron, that's – that's brilliant!"

"It's been known to happen every now and then," Ron shrugged, trying to sound offended but beaming brightly.

"But… what incantation would we use?" Harry said quietly. While he was thrilled to have another solution, Harry couldn't help but feel nervous that this one would end just like the first.

Ron's face fell, but Hermione immediately rushed to reassure him. "I don't think it would matter which spell, so long as it was in Parseltongue. Don't you see, Harry, this is perfect! Something Voldemort would do, underestimating others as you said,  _and_  it's a spell against a spell! It has to work!"

"But… couldn't we just try the Curse Crumpler again? It bought us more time the last time…"

"No, Harry," Hermione shook her head, her bushy hair bouncing around her frown. "It would have severe unbalancing effects, even if they haven't fully surfaced yet. Repeated usage of the Curse Crumpler would only serve to enhance the unbalance, make it less and less likely to have success. I think, as of now, your best option is Ron's idea of Parseltongue. In theory, it should work with any spell. Voldemort wouldn't have cared about the incantation, just that he didn't think that anyone but himself could cast it."

Harry sighed, rubbing at his scar against his threatening headache. "But what if it fails again? What if it just makes matters worse? This is Draco's  _life_  at stake. I just can't make another mistake like the Curse Crumpler."

"Harry, mate," Ron said softly, catching Harry's hand that rubbed at his scar with his own. "What's this?"

Harry tensed as Ron's thumb brushed against Draco's ring. He could  _feel_ it, feel the ring shudder against the unfamiliar, unwanted touch. He could feel an unpleasant shiver run up his spine, the ring digging into his finger in an attempt to get away from Ron's finger, warning him away from the touch that wasn't Draco's.

"Ron, stop it, you're hurting him," Hermione said quickly, taking Ron's elbow. The hand in Harry's immediately left as Ron frowned.

"Sorry, mate," he said uncertainly, staring intently at Harry's face. "You're wearing Malfoy's ring," he accused.

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I know."

"But… you know what that means, don't you?"

"Of course he does, Ronald," Hermione snapped. "He's no blundering idiot."

"But… blimey. I know you've been with Malfoy, Harry, but I always expected you to end up with Ginny."

Shaking his head sadly at Ron, Harry said, "I know you did. But believe me when I say that I don't love Ginny. I never did. How could I love her, next to Draco? Draco is everything to me and I would do  _anything_  to save him, anything to be able to be with him. He's kind and arrogant and gentle and selfish and beautiful and irksome, and I love the git to death. How could Ginny ever compare?"

"She can't," a familiar voice drawled from the door to their compartment. Harry felt his heart soar in recognition, elated at their union even after mere minutes apart. He turned, a wide, smitten smile upon his face, to see Draco leaning against the door frame, smirking and gazing at Harry with soft grey eyes. Harry could vividly recall when those eyes had looked at him with nothing but an icy malice. "How could  _anyone_  hope to compete with  _this_?" Draco gestured a long, pale hand mockingly down his body.

Rolling his black eyes, Blaise shoved past him into the compartment. "Alright, Drama Queen, move your prissy arse."

While the rest of them were chuckling over Blaise's comment, Draco bent down next to Harry's ear. "Walk with me, Potter?" he asked, his voice low and sending delighted shivers tumbling down Harry's spine. "We need to talk." The words made Harry freeze. That sentence had never led to anything good, Harry didn't think. He searched Draco's eyes, seeing warmth and a glimmer of fear behind his careful mask. Harry nodded wordlessly, swallowing against the sudden tightness in his throat as he followed Draco out of the compartment.

"Harry, where are you –"

"Leave it," Blaise cut off Ron's question with a warning glare. Ron immediately silenced, biting his lip as he stared worriedly after Draco and Harry.

As soon as they found a free compartment, Draco turned to Harry. His mask had slipped the moment that they were alone, his gaze shining with love and nerves that tightened the knot in Harry's throat.

"Draco –" Harry reached for him, but the blonde silenced him with a hand on his chest.

"Harry, I haven't been entirely honest with you," he said hesitantly and Harry felt a trill of fear to match Draco's resound through his chest.

"You want your ring back," he said softly, feeling his heart plummet with the words. Here it was; he had known that it was too good to be true.

"What?" Draco blinked, looking distracted. "I - No! Harry – no." He shook his head firmly, his fingertips digging minutely into Harry's chest. "I'll never regret giving you that. I just –" he took a deep breath, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Maybe – maybe you should sit down." But it was more of an order more than a suggestion, for he shoved Harry back onto the bench behind him. As Draco sat opposite him, Harry instantly hated the distance between them. He longed to move those few inches, to brush his knee against Draco's.

"Harry," Draco began again, seeming oblivious to Harry's longing for closeness. "I didn't want to tell you, but Blaise thinks I should and I don't necessarily agree with him but I have to admit that he does make some very good points and I have to agree that telling you does make a lot of sense, even though initially I thought it was a very bad idea and –"

Harry leaned forwards, silencing him with a finger on Draco's lips. "Right," Draco smiled weakly. "Quit ranting and get to the point, eh?" he swallowed nervously before unbuttoning his cufflink and slowly rolling up his sleeve, the back of his hand facing Harry so that Harry couldn't see his Dark Mark. Harry felt a spasm of fear run through his veins. What was so bad that had left Draco this nervous?

"I – I didn't want you to see this," Draco licked his dry lips nervously. "I've been using a glamour to hide it, and –"

"Draco, show me," Harry commanded quietly, his voice barely above a whisper and shaking as his heart thumped in his throat. Draco swallowed hard and nodded, slowly rotating his arm, exposing a brand of dark red on the inside of his forearm.

Harry felt his insides plummet, his vision blackening as he stared at Voldemort's Mark, contaminating the arm of his lover. There was so much red – so bloody  _much_ of it. Feeling the blood rush out of his face, Harry couldn't seem to be able to tear his gaze from the Dark Mark. It was almost entirely red, just shy of where it had been before they used the Curse Crumpler. How was it possible?

"Harry?" Harry felt Draco's worried gaze upon him and snapped his head up to meet agitated silver eyes.

"How?" he breathed.

Draco ran a hand through his hair – his left hand, subtly making his sleeve fall back over the Mark. "I think it was as Granger said – the Curse Crumpler unbalanced the magic in the Mark, it delayed it, and then only made it speed up."

Harry moaned, his head falling into his hands as he massaged his aching scar. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't used the Crumpler, this would never have happened. You told me not to use it, I should have listened. If only I had killed Voldemort earlier, before you had been Marked. It would have saved so many lives – it would have saved  _your_ life. This is all my bloody fault!"

A sharp slap across his face brought Harry back into focus. Massaging his stinging cheek, he stared up at Draco with petulant eyes. "I deserve so much more than that," he whispered. "This is all my fault."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, this is not your fault, Harry. That's what the slap was for, to give you some sense. This is  _no one's_ fault but the Dark Lord's.  _He's_  the one who did this to me, not you. This was not your fault, Harry. Do you understand me? It's  _not. Your. Fault_." He punctuated each word with a sharp jab of a pointy finger in Harry's chest.

"But –"

" _Enough_ ," Draco quelled Harry's protest with a glare. "I agreed that you should know. That does not mean that I will condone you blaming yourself. This is the Dark Lord's fault and my own for taking the bloody Mark in the first place. You are  _not_  going to blame yourself for trying to rid me of it, are you?"

"But, it  _is_ my –"

" _Are_ you?" Draco repeated loudly, his glare twin pinpricks of fierce silver fire and his face a royal snarl. Harry swallowed quickly and shook his head.

"Nope. I'm definitely not going to blame myself, no sir. It's Voldemort's fault, not mine."

"Good," Draco smirked in relief. "That's one problem solved." His smirk widened. "You're such a coward, Potter. One teensy glare and you immediately tuck tail and run."

"I did  _not_  'tuck tail and run'!" Harry exclaimed, offended.

Draco's smirk was so wide that it looked painful, his eyes dancing in glee. "Of course not, Potter. Of course not."

Harry folded his arms across his chest and scowled, determined to ignore the manipulative Slytherin.


	31. With Every Breath

Harry, Hermione, Blaise and Pansy sat clustered around a small desk in the library, eagerly scribbling down the incantation to every countercurse they had found in their previous researching. Even Ron had joined them, much to everyone's surprise, eager to help and see his idea in motion.

Piles of books lay open and scattered around the group. As Madam Pince walked by, she gave them a tight-lipped, lopsided smile. It was apparent to them all that she was uncertain whether to scold them for their careless treatment of her prized books or to applaud their devotion to their studies the day after the holidays.

Ron scowled after her retreating back. "Mental, that one is."

"Ronald!" Hermione chided. "Don't insult the teachers!"

"Well she's not exactly a teacher, is she?"

"She's the librarian and that's close enough! She's still your elder and you should respect her!"

"You just like her because she has books," Ron helpfully pointed out before cowering under her glare. Pansy and Blaise chuckled while Harry ignored them, added another countercurse to their growing list.

They had been finding the names of curses for hours, and Ron and Hermione were getting restless. They had no real attachment to Draco, and not even Hermione could stand the extra hours of studying when it wasn't strictly school-related. Yet, they forged on with Harry, Blaise and Pansy, bickering increasingly more often as they went.

Harry sighed. He had thought that once Ron and Hermione started dating, their arguments would stop. It seemed, however, that they had become a kind of mating call between them, or perhaps a common ground. The two of them seemed to be happiest when they were fighting about something, so Harry wasn't going to intrude upon their joy. He did wish that they could pay more attention to finding countercurses than irritating each other, though. That morning, Harry had almost lost consciousness from the speed of the blood leaving his face when he saw Draco's Mark. It had reddened even further over the night, a mere sliver of black left at the top. It was redder than Harry had ever seen it – redder than it had been before he used the Curse Crumpler. He only hoped that the Parseltongue would have a better effect than the Crumpler had had. Hermione supported it, and that was as good of an approval as anything.

Finally, Hermione looked down critically at the growing list on the table between them. "Alright," she frowned at it, "I think that these should be enough to start – I'll just arrange them in order of the simplest to most complex and we can begin."

"And you're sure this won't end like the Crumpler did?" Harry asked uncertainly as they made their way to the Astronomy Tower to meet with Draco.

"I'm positive," Hermione nodded as she ascended the stairs after Blaise, clutching the list of countercurses tightly in her fist. "We can't know for certain  _how_  it will end, but the use of a spell on a spell will eliminate the bad effects that the Curse Crumpler had. I think that the only changes would be for the better." Not entirely reassured, Harry smiled tightly at her as Blaise opened the door to the Astronomy Tower.

Draco stood in the Tower with his back to them, the gentle breeze ruffling his platinum hair. When the door banged shut behind them, Draco turned with a curious half-smile. Harry immediately felt his breath catch in his throat as his heart gave a little stutter. How was it legal for anyone to be so stunning? Draco's gaze traveling over the small group, lingering on the parchment in Hermione's hand and finally resting on Harry. The smile slid off of Draco's face and his shoulders sagged.

"You're still trying?" he sighed, his expression unreadable.

"I have to," Harry said. Draco merely sighed and nodded, his expression looking pained. "What's the first spell on the list, Hermione?" Harry called to her, not breaking his gaze from Draco's.

Hermione bit her lip. "I thought we should start small – just to see how well it would work. We can start with the simple spells before making our way up to the more complicated countercurses." She waited for Harry's impatient nod before she continued, "The first spell is  _Scourgify_. I thought that maybe if we focused on cleansing the curse from his blood at first, it will –"

"Alright, Hermione," Ron shushed her gently. "Harry just needs the spells, not the play-by-play."

"Right," Hermione said sheepishly, her bushy curls bouncing around her dark, worried eyes as she nodded.

Harry moved towards Draco slowly, trying to calm the blonde with his eyes. He could feel Draco tensing, see the uncertainty shining brightly within silver eyes. Gently, Harry turned Draco so that his back was to the crowd of people and slowly lifted the sleeve of his left arm. His eyes remained locked on Draco's as he felt a shiver of fear run through the Slytherin. When the sleeve was at Draco's elbow, Harry glanced down, feeling his eyes widen and a soft gasp escape through his parted lips. He couldn't ignore how much  _red_  covered the tattoo burned onto his lover's arm. Draco shivered again and Harry pressed his lips to the Mark, encouraging calm with his touch. When Draco had sufficiently relaxed, Harry turned his gaze to the Mark, unfocussing his eyes so that the snake appeared to writhe and flex.

Pointing his wand at the Mark, Harry slowly opened his mouth and began to quietly hiss the spell. ' _Scourgify_.'

He paused, eyes narrowed as he searched for any changes in the Mark and Draco nervously watched his face. Shoulders sagging in disappointment, Harry called, "Next, Hermione."

"Er…" the witch hastily checked her notes. "The next one is  _Finite Incantatem_. I thought that maybe if we just tried a general spell-halt, it might –"

" _Hermione_ ," Ron warned.

"Right."

Harry threaded his fingers through Draco's, the blonde's body angled so that none but Harry could see his Mark. Although he knew it made Draco uncomfortable under such close scrutiny, the sight of the snake was essential for Harry's subconscious shift into Parseltongue. He squeezed Draco's fingers, trying again to comfort him as he stared at the snake upon his arm. ' _Finite Incantatem_.'

Harry stared eagerly at the Mark. He had, for just a moment, almost –  _almost_  – believed that the Mark had changed, showing just the smallest flicker of black. But the moment passed, and the Mark was again its heart-stopping blood red.

"Hermione, another!"

Soon, they had run through the entire list, to no effect. "Hermione, there's got to be more! There  _must_  be another! That  _can't_ be the end of the list!"

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione sounded choked. "That's it. There is no more. I – I really thought that this would work. But… I think we were wrong. Voldemort didn't make a way to save his Death Eaters. He left no loophole. He…" she bit her lip, swallowing hard. "He would have wanted them all to die. There would have been no forgiveness for any of them had they let him die."

"No!" Harry snarled at her. He knew his expression was one of pure rage, fury snapping in his eyes. He knew that he looked dangerous, terrifying even, in his anger. He didn't care; he  _wanted_ Hermione to fear him. He wanted them  _all_ to fear him. He needed them to see his determination. Harry had never given up when he faced Voldemort, himself alone against certain death. He wouldn't give up now, not with Draco's life on the line, something infinitely more precious than his own. He wouldn't lose Draco, not because it had been Harry's fault. Not because Harry had been so stupid as to kill Voldemort two years too late. Not because Harry had been the cause of Draco's dying. Hermione gave a tiny squeak of fright, latching on to Ron's arm. "There  _has_ to be a way! There _must_ be! I will not let Draco die because of me. My mistakes  _will not_  become the cause of his death. Not now or  _ever_."

Blaise and Pansy cowered under Harry's sparking glare. They had never been subjected to one of Harry's rages. Ron was pale, but stood strong while Hermione trembled next to him, her fingernails digging into his arm and probably leaving bruises. Harry didn't relax his glare on them. He  _wanted_ them to know that he was dead serious. That he wouldn't –  _couldn't_  – let anything happen to Draco.

A cold, gentle hand touched his own, and Harry immediately felt the rage slide from his body. "Harry?"

"Oh  _Merlin_ , I'm so sorry, Draco," Harry swallowed, turning to the blonde. "I never would have subjected you to this if I hadn't believed that it would work."

"Yes you would have," Draco chuckled softly, earning himself a weak smile from Harry. "You said it yourself; you had to. But it's alright, at this point what can any of us do but what we have to?" He gently kissed Harry and Harry felt his knees grow weak. How could he live without this, the quietly demanding, self-satisfied air around Draco? His easy, heart-wrenching smiles, his teasing smirk and his tender kisses? How could he  _not_ do anything and everything to save him?

Just as the others were making their way out of the tower, Draco called out, "A moment, Blaise, if you will. I'd like to speak with you." He pecked another quick kiss upon Harry's lips. "I'll join you soon; go on ahead."

As much as he was loathe to leave Draco, Harry nodded tightly, searching his silver gaze. How could he deny the blonde anything?

"C'mon, mate," Ron's deep voice rumbled as he laid a large hand on Harry's shoulder and gently pulled him away. Blaise clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as they passed, a silent gesture of thanks and approval, apology and comfort.

Outside the stairwell to the South Tower, Harry hesitated.

"Aren't you coming up, Harry?" Hermione asked with worried brown eyes.

Harry slowly shook his head. "I need a walk… just to clear my head. I won't be late."

Hermione bit her lip. "You're sure you don't want us to come with you?"

"I'll be fine," Harry said, perhaps a bit harsher than he had intended.

"But –" she silenced as Ron took her hand, tugging her into the South Tower with a minute shake of his head. "Be careful, Harry," she said in defeat, allowing Ron to pull her away.

Harry brushed his robes aside, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he walked down the darkened halls of the school. There was not a soul in sight – no ghost, teacher, or fellow student. The castle was eerily silent and Harry swallowed hard.

There had to be another way to save Draco. There  _had_  to! Harry couldn't accept that they were out of options. "Dammit, Draco," he breathed into the silence around him. "You can't die. I won't let you."

"You love him."

Harry blinked in surprise, whirling about to see Luna Lovegood standing next to him. "Where did you come from?" he asked, trying to quiet his startled heart.

"I came from my mum's womb. What a strange question to ask people," Luna stated serenely. "I imagine that it's the same for everyone. Except perhaps goblins. I've always known that they're the spawn of manticore defecations when the manticores have been eating the wrong type of dirt."

"I - What – never mind," Harry shook off her absurdity. "What did you say before?"

"I said that you love him. It's rather obvious, the way it's practically leaking out of your ears."

Harry blinked. "My ears? I –" he paused as a new thought struck him. An idea so brilliant, it would have to work. His mother had been able to save him through her love – she had sacrificed herself to save him. If only he could figure out how to work that kind of magic – how to be sure he would succeed. For that, he would need Hermione. "Luna, you're brilliant!" Harry beamed before racing back to the South Tower. He hoped that Hermione would understand.

When he arrived in the South Tower, he found Ron dozing lightly before the fire in their common room. With a gentle nudge, Harry wakened him.

"Ron, where's Herm?" he asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

Ron yawned and stretched widely, his gangly limbs flailing dangerously in the air. "She went to sleep. I was just waiting for you to come back before I nodded off."

Harry raised an amused brow. "Looks like you've already done that, mate."

"Yeah, well," Ron shrugged, "it's been a long day, hasn't it?"

His eyelids began to droop again, so Harry took pity on him. "Come on, off to bed." His discussion with Hermione could wait until the morning.

His shoulders slumped in disappointment as they entered the dorm. All of the eighth year boys were there and fast asleep, except for Draco and Blaise. They hadn't yet returned. Shrugging it off, Harry dressed in his pyjamas and slipped in to bed. It was, as Ron had said, a long day and he was exhausted.

* * *

 

"Don't worry, Dray," Blaise said softly as he downed the last drops of the firewhiskey they had passed between them. "I'll take care of him. But right now," he stood, shaking the wrinkles from his robes and extending a hand to help Draco up, "we should get back to the dorm."

Draco took his offered hand and stood shakily. "Thanks, Blaise, really. I appreciate it. He still hasn't accepted it, and I don't want to know what will happen when the – when it happens."

Blaise nodded stiffly. He didn't particularly want to know, either, but unlike Draco, he would be around to see how it panned out. He tried not to think of it as abandonment by Draco, but he couldn't help the pang of loss that resounded through his heart. Blaise had been so good – so patient with Draco's and Harry's relationship, knowing that they were good for each other in a way that Blaise never had been for Draco. He was glad that Draco had found someone who loved him even more than Blaise had; glad that Draco's feelings for the Gryffindor were finally returned. He had spent too long watching Draco pine after Potter, becoming a shoulder for him to cry on when his hopeless love had become too much to bear.

It seemed so ironic now that Draco finally had the love that he had always wanted, only to lose it so brutally. Blaise would do as Draco wanted – he would take care of Potter if –  _when_ the curse came to pass. There wasn't really a possibility that Draco would be freed from the curse anymore, and Blaise was damned if he was going to let Draco go with worries in his heart. Potter  _would_  be alright after Draco left, if Blaise had anything to say about it.

Draco's words ran over in Blaise's mind.  _Promise me that, when this is all over, you'll do anything you can –_ everything _you can – to make sure that Harry's alright. He'll blame himself – you know he will. Just – just don't let him do anything stupid._  He would do as Draco had asked. He would protect Potter from himself.

As they entered the South Tower, Blaise watched Draco's wobbling steps with a worried eye. While he, too, felt like the room was perhaps a little more off-kilter than normal, neither of them were terribly drunk and it made him anxious to see Draco so utterly unbalanced. The Draco Juice never seemed to affect the blonde – he had had even less than usual tonight. Blaise worried that the curse was starting to make itself known. The end was near, drawing closer with every breath.

When they entered the boy's dormitory, the sounds of thrashing and whimpering met their ears. Potter was having another of his nightmares. Without a word, Draco crossed the room to him and lay on Potter's bed fully clothed, spooning around him and holding him against his chest.

"It's alright, Harry," he whispered into the quietly sobbing Gryffindor's ear. "I've got you. You're alright."

Blaise watched as Harry's whimpering immediately quieted, a contented smile drifting across his face as he sagged into Draco's embrace.

"I've got you."


	32. This Is The Way The World Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"Between the desire_  
>  _And the spasm_  
>  _Between the potency_  
>  _And the existence_  
>  _Between the essence_  
>  _And the descent_  
>  _Falls the Shadow"_  
>  ~T.S. Eliot, _The Hollow Men_

At first, Harry didn't know what had woken him. It was still dark, but a faint, pinkish light on the horizon, seen from the window beside his bed, hinted that dawn was near. Classes were to start again today, Harry realized with a sigh. Not that it mattered. If he could talk to Hermione, he wouldn't have to take any classes again. A stifled gasp roused him from his thoughts. It must have been that that had woken him. He rolled blearily onto his other side to see what had made the sound.

Harry froze, his mouth growing dry with fear as he faced Draco. The blonde was lying beside him in his bed, still fully dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the night before. Draco was lying flat on his back, his hands fisted into the bedding beside his shoulders. Silver eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring at the ceiling, but distant, as if he saw nothing. His face and chest were covered in a heavy sheen of sweat and he gasped again, a strangled, sucking sound, as if he were reaching for but unable to grasp the air around them.

"Draco?" Harry whispered, rubbing his shoulder as if the motion could wake him from whatever trance he were in. "Draco!" Harry quickly moved over the unresponsive blonde, yanking his left sleeve up to his elbow. He felt the blood leave his face in a rush.

The Dark Mark was a complete, sickening blood red. It had begun.

"Blaise!" Harry screamed desperately, needing someone, anyone to help him. "Blaise, wake  _up!_  I need your help!"

Instantly, the dark Slytherin was at Harry's side while around them, the other sleepy eighteen year olds grumbled about "five more minutes."

"Merlin," Blaise breathed, his face paling. "Hold on, Draco."

Harry had been in so many tight spots before; he had kept his head in so many life-threatening situations. But now, when it was Draco's life in danger, the only thought that seemed to be able to run through his head was " _Dracodracodracodracodraco,"_  constantly repeating and quickening frantically as Blaise hovered over him, checking his vitals.

Harry didn't realize that he'd been chanting out loud until Blaise slapped him across the face, successfully silencing him and leaving a stinging burn across his cheek. "Hold it together, Potter. We need to get him to the hospital wing."

Harry nodded quickly. Right. Hospital. Er… where was that again? He couldn't focus, couldn't pay attention to anything other than that high, keening sound that filled his mind, the pale, gasping face that was all he could see. _Dracodracodracodracodraco._

"Here," Blaise murmured a quick featherweight charm and shoved Draco into Harry's arms. "Follow me – quickly." Something about the urgency of Blaise's tones broke through the chaos in his mind and Harry nodded quickly, setting off in a run after Blaise, hugging his precious burden close to his chest as Draco gasped rattling breaths and clenched his fists into Harry's pyjama top.

"Hold on, Draco, hold on," Harry whispered desperately as he tore off down the halls after Blaise.

The race to the hospital wing seemed to take an eternity and by the time they arrived, Draco's quiet gasps for air had morphed into throat-tearing wheezes.

"Why can't he breathe," Harry moaned, cradling Draco close to his chest. "Why can't he fucking  _breathe_?"

"Voldemort's idea of a joke, undoubtedly," Blaise snarled. "The bastard was  _sick_."

They barged into the hospital wing, startling Madam Pomfrey as she was checking her potions supplies. A vial of green liquid shattered on the ground, hissing softly as the matron leapt up and rushed over to them. "Good heavens," she fluttered. "What happened? Lay him here –"

As Blaise attempted to explain to Pomfrey about the curse, Harry tried to settle Draco on the bed she had directed them to. When Harry tried to release him, Draco only latched tighter to his shirt, wheezing a plea, so Harry ultimately sat on the bed, cradling Draco in his lap. Pomfrey came over to them when Blaise had finished his story. She briefly frowned her disapproval at Harry and Draco's position before she began to check Draco's vitals with a series of colorful spells from her wand, peering into his eyes as she did so.

After a moment, she frowned again. "I'm afraid there's not much I can do but make him more comfortable, boys," she said hesitantly. "I don't think that there's anything that anyone could do for him with a curse of this strength. I've never felt anything like it. I'd say we should move him to St. Mungo's, but in his condition he should be moved as little as possible. Besides, I doubt that St. Mungo's would have any better treatment to give. At any rate, they would be averse to treating him from this particular curse, I imagine."

Harry bristled, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Pomfrey quickly raised her hands as if to ward off Harry's rage. "I meant no disrespect, merely that most would see it as justice for his crimes, given from the Lord to the Servant."

"But you don't?" Blaise asked dangerously.

"Of course not," Pomfrey drew herself up to her full height. "He's a student, not a monster."

"Then quit talking about St. Mungo's and help him," Blaise growled.

Pomfrey looked affronted, but hurried to her potions cabinet just the same. "Here," she gestured to Blaise, shoving miscellaneous bottles into his arms after she had checked the labels, "Hold these."

"Blaise," Harry moaned as Draco began to writhe in his arms, his blood-shot eyes bugging. "Hurry!"

Blaise and Pomfrey both looked up quickly as Harry called out before hurrying to his side. Pomfrey seized a bottle filled with a pink, foamy liquid and uncapped it with a tap of her wand. "Hold his head up while I give this to him," she instructed and Harry hurried to comply. "This will help to clear his airway and lungs, strengthening his diaphragm and hopefully making breathing easier." She poured a gulp of the liquid into Draco's mouth, massaging his throat to make him swallow. "And this –" she held up a clear blue liquid "— will help to relieve some of the pressure in his head." She repeated the same pour and massage routine, and Draco appeared to calm.

His breath came in shallow pants, his eyes fluttering closed while his fist tightened in Harry's shirt. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, burying his face in the soft blonde hair, darkened with sweat.

"Hold on, Draco," he whispered into the damp hair. "Don't you dare leave me."

"Here," Harry looked up to see Madam Pomfrey offering him a damp towel.

Harry wordlessly accepted the cool cloth, using it to massage gentle circles into Draco's sweat-streaked face, neck and hands. Blaise sat in the chair next to them, burying his face in his hands as he watched them with red, puffy eyes. It was only when Harry saw Blaise's eyes that he realized that he, himself had been crying. He wiped absently at the tell-tale wet streaks that made trails down his cheeks and chin.

"He'll be alright," Blaise said quietly, but the words held no conviction and they both knew it. How could he be alright when the curse was so close to being completed? How could any of them be alright?

It was almost noon when Hermione, Ron and Pansy slipped into the Hospital wing. Neither Harry and Draco nor Blaise had moved since they had settled that morning, Draco curled against Harry's chest and Blaise in the chair beside them, his elbows on his knees and his hands cupped over his mouth.

"How – how is he?" Hermione asked hesitantly, eyeing the hand that was curled tightly in Harry's shirt.

"Stable right now," Blaise sighed. "Pomfrey managed to get his breathing under control, but he's still unresponsive."

Pansy moved to the space between the bed and the medicine table beside them. "Dray," she sighed, stroking her fingers through his hair.

Harry watched the movement of her fingers, his throat tight. After a moment, he looked up at Hermione. "I need your help, Herm," he said softly.

She nodded quickly, her eyes unnaturally bright. "Anything, Harry."

"I need you to tell me how I can save him – the way my mum saved me."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in horror. " _What_? No, Harry – not that! I can't do that! You can't  _possibly_  think that –"

"You think you can save him, Potter?" Blaise cut in. Harry swallowed hard, nodding. "How?"

As Harry opened his mouth to answer, Hermione cut him off with a shriek. "He wants to sacrifice himself! Harry, no  _way_  can you do that! It wouldn't work – it would only get you both killed. That curse only works on the love of a mother for her child – there's no love that's stronger than that. No other love is strong enough to feed that kind of magic. It would never work."

"But –"

" _No_ , Harry," Hermione cut him off. "Imagine, if on the slight chance that it  _did_ work and you could save him, imagine how much Draco would hate you if you died to save his life! Imagine how much he would miss you!"

"About as much as  _I_  would bloody miss  _him_ , I'd wager!" Harry roared into her face. "I can't do  _nothing_ , Hermione! I can't just sit here and let him die."

"Yes, you can," Blaise said quietly. Harry felt his mouth hang open as he gaped at Blaise in shock. Hermione, Ron and Pansy all looked startled, too. "You've already done so much for him – more than any of the rest of us have. I can't let you do anything stupid to try and save him now." Blaise swallowed tightly. "He made me swear to it, and I'll never break the last promise that I ever made to him."

Harry sagged back against the headboard, cradling Draco tighter to his chest as his last hopes shattered within him, breaking his heart and his strength with them. What more could he do? If he couldn't save Draco, the one person who mattered the most to him in the world, who could he save? He couldn't save any of them – not Dumbledore. Not Sirius. Not Snape. Not Fred. Not any of them – not Draco.

"But Dragons are supposed to live forever," he whispered numbly as the world came crashing down around his ears, sweeping him away into oblivion. He was acutely aware of the minor tightening of the hand in his shirt, that precious hand that he wanted to cling to for eternity. He would never let go. Because to be torn apart, didn't that mean that you had to let go?

"We should get to our afternoon classes," Hermione said softly, tugging at Ron's elbow as she left the hospital wing. Harry could hear her voice cracking; he could see how close to breaking she was, like glass. He absently wondered that if he blew on her, would she shatter? He found that he didn't care. Not about her, not about his own shattering heart, not about anything but the man in his arms, that hand fisted tightly in his shirt as if he were a lifeline. As if the breaking of that grip would be the breaking of everything – life, the world,  _Draco_.

And then they were alone. The hospital wing was empty except for Harry, Draco and Blaise, overshadowed by the omnipresent Madam Pomfrey.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, rocking Draco in his arms, feeling the tears trail down his cheeks, whispering nothing into Draco's ears. It was minutes – hours – days. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except for the frail beating of Draco's heart, the faint puffs of his breath against Harry's cheek, the tightness of his hand in Harry's shirt. Harry absently wondered if they could stay like this for eternity. But in the end, it didn't matter.

"Draco," he whispered, pressing a kiss against the Slytherin's hair. "I love you. I love you. Until the end of time, I love you. It's always been you."

But in the end, that didn't matter either. Nothing at all mattered to the curse that flowed through Draco's blood, expanding from the Dark Mark and claiming his body. Draco's body no longer belonged to himself – he was branded as Voldemort's, and Voldemort had come to claim him. The last act of a dead, cruel man who lived to punish those who had wronged him. Even if they were innocents. Or, perhaps especially if they were innocents.

It was almost nightfall when Draco's eyes shot open, gasping his breaths as the hand unclenched itself from Harry's shirt to claw at a throat that couldn't draw enough breath. "Draco," Harry gasped, "Draco, fight it! Fight it! I'll save you," he insisted. "I'll save you; I'll find a way, just hold on! Hold on, dammit, Draco! Fight it!"

Blaise was instantly on his feet, calling for Madam Pomfrey. She tried to force another vial of the throat relaxant into his mouth. But what happened next stunned them all.

Draco instantly relaxed, his shoulders dropping and his breath evening into a throaty hiss. He stood, eerily calm and turned to face them. His eyes, reddened and slitted like a snake's, surveyed them with a subdued malice. Calmly, he opened his mouth and began to speak, his voice cold and high, bloodcurdlingly familiar.

"This is not the last you have seen of me. The unfaithful have been punished. A new era will soon begin, and I shall again rise. Lord Voldemort will rise again, stronger and even more powerful than before." The voice faded and slowly Draco's eyes closed.

Harry was on his feet in an instant, leaping towards him to catch him as he swayed and fell to the ground. Clear silver eyes opened and stared up at Harry as Draco trembled. "Harry," he whimpered, his voice filled with pain and his body trembling.

"I'm here, Draco," Harry said desperately, swallowing against the tight lump in his throat. "I'm here and you're going to be alright and I'll save you and everything is going to be fine."

"Harry," silver eyes closed briefly in agony before slowly flickering back open. "Harry, it hurts."

"Shh, love," Harry cradled Draco in his arms. "I know it does, I know. Just hang in there, it will be alright."

"Harry –"

"Be strong," Harry whispered, kissing the top of his head. "I'm here."

Draco whimpered one last time, a low sound, filled with unspoken pain. And then it was over.

"Draco?" Harry whispered, his face frozen as he looked down into still silver eyes, slowly turning to glass. They were empty, holding none of Draco's usual fire. "No," he whispered. "Draco, please. Please, love, don't do this to me. Draco, wake up!" When he received no response, Harry hit the blonde's chest furiously. "Damn you, Draco, wake up I said! Fuck you! Why won't you listen to me, Draco?"

"Harry," Blaise took hold of his hand and gently pulling him from Draco as Madam Pomfrey knelt to check Draco's heartbeat. "Harry, he's gone." The dark Slytherin's face was creased in grief, blurring in Harry's eyes.

"The hell he is," he snarled. "He promised that everything would be alright. He  _promised_! How can he break his promise? How can everything be alright if he isn't here to  _make_ it so?" Harry demanded.

"Please, Harry," Blaise whispered, his voice sounding choked. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"But he promised," Harry whispered. "And I promised him. I swore that I would save him. How can I break that promise to him? How can I? I have to save him."

"Harry, please," Blaise begged again, sinking to the floor with Harry in his arms. As Pomfrey shook her head and moved aside, he slowly closed Draco's eyes, pressing gently on each pale eyelid. "No one can save him anymore."

Looking into Blaise's dark eyes, so close to his own, Harry felt his heart shatter. It was final – Harry would never again see those endless silver eyes, see the devious smirk curl upon Draco's lips. Harry would never again touch him or hear him laugh or kiss him. He would never again breathe in Draco's musky, lemon scent or taste him. Draco would never again hold him, tell him that everything was going to be alright. Even if Draco could tell him now, it would be a lie. How could anything ever be alright again, when Harry's world had been torn to pieces?

So this is the way the world ends, Harry realized. Not with a bang, as all the stories said – not with the blare of trumpets, the flash of lightning in the pouring rain. The earth wouldn't split open, releasing an army of foul creatures from its depths. People wouldn't run screaming as the flames roared higher, claiming the dried earth as its own.

No, that was not how the world ended.

In reality, it was much simpler, much more heartbreaking and fearsome. For this is the way the world ends – not with a bang, but a whimper. A slow plea for the pain to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"This is the way the world ends_  
>  _This is the way the world ends_  
>  _This is the way the world ends_  
>  _Not with a bang but a whimper."_  
>  ~T.S. Eliot, _The Hollow Men_


	33. Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Blaise sighed, a heavy rush of air that left his lungs feeling as empty as his heart. Slowly, he dragged in a breath through his parted lips. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Lather, rinse, repeat. What else could he do? He glanced across the South Tower common room at the brunette who stared blankly into the flames, curled around himself. Blaise had promised Draco that he would take care of Harry. But what could he do? How could he break through the impenetrable shield that Harry had erected around his mind, locking himself away from the world?

Blaise thought that his heart would shatter when Draco had passed. It almost had – Potter's heartbroken fury did nothing to help him keep his own heart together. But if  _his_  heart had broken, how could he hope to keep his promise to Draco to protect Harry? It had taken everything that Blaise had to cling tightly to the splitting edges of his heart, welding them together through the force of sheer will. But after it all, how could he help Harry?

"Draco," Blaise whispered into the emptiness, letting his face fall tiredly into his hands. "What am I to do?" He couldn't think; mentally, physically, emotionally, he was just so  _exhausted_. All that he could do was breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Lather, rinse, repeat.

* * *

 

 _Draco…_  Harry couldn't breathe. He sat before the fire, gasping softly as he rocked, riding the waves of his misery. His arms wrapped tightly around himself, fisting his hand into the wrinkled knot on his shirt, stretched and creased from Draco's clutching fist. If he could hold on tight enough, maybe, just maybe he would be able to reach Draco – he would be able to call him back from the depths of oblivion. He couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air left in the world to fill his lungs. Draco had taken it all with him.

It seemed so sinfully short of a time that they had had together. Barely four months. It was so little time – and yet Harry knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that no one would  _ever_  touch his heart like Draco had. No one would ever compare to Draco's soft whispers, the brush of his lips, the warmth in his eyes - all that had turned to the stony glass dance of the departed.

With a soft whine, so quiet that he couldn't be sure that he had actually made the sound, Harry stood and left the South Tower, making his way to the Astronomy Tower. He had to get away. Maybe if he ran hard enough, ran fast enough, he would be able to out run the gnawing pain in his heart. Maybe if he ran hard enough, his heart would be left behind. Harry didn't run. He didn't want to forget. He didn't want to leave the pain behind. It was held within him. Every tear cherished and held intimately before being released with a kiss. Each one a clench of his heart, reawakening the pain. He didn't want to let go of the pain. How could he, when doing so would be to forget Draco? The pain was solace. The pain was real.

He just knew that Draco would be in the Astronomy Tower. He had always been able to find Draco there. Draco would still be there, after everything, wouldn't he? Harry knew that he would be there. As he entered, Draco would turn and smirk, his silver eyes dancing. Would Harry cross to him slowly, savoring every moment? Or would he rush across the room and take Draco in his arms, needing every extra second spent together? Harry would kiss him, that was certain. But would it be fierce and aggressive, a wild fire striking across the scorched ground in their desperation for closeness? Or would the kiss be slow and deep, a lava flow changing the very foundations of the earth with every slide of lips.

His heart alight with anticipation, Harry slowly creaked open the door to the Astronomy Tower. He glanced around desperately for that faint glimpse of platinum blonde hair, glowing like a star in the moonlight. The teasing smirk and clever, barbing drawl.

But there was nothing.

Closing his eyes tightly, Harry felt a wave of despair crash over him, pulling him under the surface. His mind spun, no longer certain which way was up as he was buffeted endlessly on the black tides that swamped his mind. Draco was everywhere. Harry could smell him in the air. He could feel his body draping around him, pressing soft kisses against his neck. He could hear his quiet chuckle. He could see his face in the darkness; hear him whispering words of quiet adoration in his ear.

"How?" Harry yelled angrily into the dark night visible from the Astronomy Tower parapets, raising his fists furiously in the air. "How can you be gone when I still feel you all around me? How can you be gone when I can still feel you in my heart? How can you be gone when I still love you? How can you be anywhere but here with me?"

The silence was deafening, swirling around Harry and mocking him. Harry screamed in rage, kicking furiously at the wall of the Tower. "Dammit, Draco! Answer me!" Again, there was no answer but the repeated silence. Harry felt his knees buckle as he fell, twin flares of pain shooting up through them as they hit the cold stone floor. The physical pain was a welcome relief, a small break that tore the smallest of clouds through his mental agony.

Slowly, Harry curled up on the floor in a tight ball. It was his fault. It was all his fault. Draco was dead because of him. Harry had killed Voldemort, activating the curse. Then he had failed. He had failed Draco. Why hadn't any of it worked – the Curse Crumpler, the Parseltongue? He had tried so hard, desperately tried to find a solution to stop the curse, to rewind it. But it hadn't been enough. None of it had been enough. Why did he eat and sleep? Why did he attend classes? Why did he waste precious time – time that Draco didn't have, had  _never_  had – when he should have been using it to free Draco of the curse?

In the end, Draco's death was all his fault.

* * *

 

Blaise leaned heavily against the doorframe of the Astronomy Tower, bracing his legs as his body threatened to collapse. He felt a dry sob rise in his throat, but quickly pressed it down. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

How accurately Potter had screamed out Blaise's own emotions, his own grievances.  _How can you be gone when I still feel you all around me? How can you be gone when I still love you?_

Pansy didn't understand. She never had. She had tried to, sure. But she had never quite been able to wrap her mind around the concept that Blaise loved Draco. They had never said it, in so many words, but Blaise had felt it with his whole heart. He still felt it. He had tried so hard to deny his true emotions, but even now, even after all this time spent apart, he was still in love with Draco.

As Harry began to whimper in his sleep, whispering out Draco's name, Blaise summoned a blanket and lay it over the Gryffindor.

"Draco," Harry whispered, his voice broken and begging, tears escaping beneath his shut eyelids as he sobbed quietly in his sleep. "Please, I love you."

"Me too," Blaise whispered in to the darkness, settling himself against a wall and wrapping his arms tightly around himself. "Me too, Dray."

He would take care of Harry. He had promised Draco that he would. And he had never –  _never_ broken a promise to Draco.

* * *

 

_Harry blinked slowly, incredulously rubbing at his eyes as if the act would change what he was seeing. Dressed immaculately in a shirt and slacks of all black that made him seem pale as a ghost and magnificently set off the silver in his eyes, Draco strode towards Harry. His arms were crossed over his chest in an achingly familiar gesture while his eyes spat pure malice, his best Malfoy sneer upon his face. Harry had never before seen anything so beautiful in his life. He was heartbreakingly gorgeous and Harry hungrily drank in every detail of his appearance._

_"Draco…" Harry felt relief choke in his throat as he reached for the blonde, stumbling forwards. But, with a dark laugh, Draco slapped away his hand._

_"Stay away from me, Potter," he spat, his voice hauntingly musical. "I was so much better off before you came into my life. Before you killed the Dark Lord, my Master. Before you ruined –" he laughed dryly "– no, before you ended my life."_

_Harry felt the smile slide from his face, his expression melting into horror. "Draco, no, I never meant to –"_

_"But you did, didn't you, Potter?" his laugh was scathing. "You know, Harry," Draco purred the name, his voice thick with mockery. "I was doing fine without you – before you came along. I had a cure for the curse almost completely worked out. Did you know that? No – I didn't think you did. It was your foolish –_ involvement _with me that ended my life, don't you see? You distracted me – you with your stupid little Gryffindor heart. You always have to see the best in people, don't you? Even in Death Eaters."_

_Draco's lips curved into a vicious smirk as he prowled in a half-circle around Harry, all the power of a snake, coiled to strike, within his lean muscles. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. This was a dream; he knew it was a dream. If only he could wake up… He didn't want his views of Draco spoiled by this night – he didn't want to think of Draco as this cruel, cold man, filled with hatred. That was the Draco of his first seven years at Hogwarts, not of his last. The Draco he knew was warm and loving, as quick to smile as he had once been to sneer._

_"Draco, please, this isn't you –"_

_Draco laughed incredulously. "Potter, do you presume to know me at all? Do you think that you love me, Potter?" he cooed. His lips turning to a revolted grimace, he spat "that's so incredibly_ Gryffindor _. Don't you see, Potter?" he smirked angelically. "I was playing you the whole time." The sneer was back, his expressions changing as rapidly as Lavender Brown's crushes. "Every single time I had my tongue down your throat – my dick in your arse – I just can't believe that you didn't realize that it was all a game. You were good fun, you know. Fun and convenient, that's all you ever were. Even with you professing your undying, eternal love all over the place. You'd make one hell of a Hufflepuff, Potter."_

_"No. Draco, you're lying. I know that you loved me, you –"_

_"Yes, rather convincing, wasn't I?" He scrupulously examined his perfectly manicured nails. "Still, it came to be such a drag that it was almost a relief when you killed me. Don't you think? Were you getting as bored with our little games as I was?"_

_"No! Draco, stop it! Please just stop it!" Harry cried. Draco's words ran around in his head, over and over. You killed me. Were you getting as bored with our little games as I was? You were good fun, you know. "No. Draco, please stop. I love you –"_

_Draco gave one last degrading laugh before he vanished into the darkness, forever out of Harry's reach._

Harry slowly opened his eyes, startled to find himself on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, a scruffy blanket wrapped tightly around him. He sat up, trying to wipe away the tear tracks from his face.

Against the low wall across from him sat Blaise, quietly surveying him, a bottle of amber liquid held between his knees. "He loved you, too," he said softly, offering the bottle of Draco Juice to Harry. "He always had, even when he was with me, I think." He smiled sadly as Harry moved to sit beside him. "It was always you for him."

"You loved him. You still love him," Harry said gently, with dawning realization.

"So do you." Blaise's gaze faltered, flashing down briefly before snapping back up to emerald eyes.

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry, Blaise. If I'd known –"

"Nothing would have changed," Blaise said simply. "Draco loved you – you were better for him than I ever was. You made him happier than I ever could."

"But what made  _you_  happy?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Seeing him happy did. And you made him happy." He shrugged, "Beyond that, it never really mattered that much."

They drifted into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Since he and Draco had started sleeping together, he had never had to drink the Draco Juice. Draco's touch always made the nightmares go away. Draco was always there and so the nightmares never were. How ironic it was, now that Harry would have to drink to keep  _Draco_  away. He knew that Draco would never blame him for his death – much as Snape and Fred and Dumbledore never did. The problem lay in the fact that Harry blamed himself. He could never imagine the others' forgiveness when he was never able to forgive himself.

"Someone will need to tell Narcissa," Harry said softly. "She needs to know."

Blaise sighed heavily, a world-weary, unhappy sigh. "I flooed St. Mungo's from McGonagall's office earlier – Narcissa was already dead. She and Draco would have died at around the same time."

"I wonder how she knew," Harry said quietly. But he really didn't care and Blaise didn't answer. Harry couldn't help but feel an ache of envy. Narcissa had known somehow – she had been able to chose the very moment that Draco left the world to sink into oblivion with him. How Harry wished that he had been able to do the same. How he wished that it was Draco, not Blaise, who sat here with him, sharing the bottle of firewhiskey. He would give anything –  _anything_ – to be with him again.

Anything at all.

Inhale. Exhale. Lather, rinse, repeat.


	34. Seeing The Stars

Blaise frowned worriedly as he watched Harry next to him, staring off absently into space. It had been two months since that day in the hospital, and Potter only seemed to be growing more distant than ever with the passage of time. Ron and Hermione had stopped trying to talk to him, sneaking concerned glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes but never speaking. It seemed oftentimes that Harry just floated behind them like a ghost; distant, emotionless, blank. It was only when he and Blaise were alone together that his walls came crumbling down, then the dammed up tears and emotions came hurtling out as Harry threw himself at Blaise, sobbing heartbrokenly against his chest.

Blaise had thought that it would ebb by now, but it seemed as if the more time that passed, the more pain Harry would bottle up inside. The more tears would break through.

He had tried talking to McGonagall, Ron and Hermione about it – oh, he had tried. McGonagall had expressed her sympathies and the availability of Mental Healers for survivors of the war, though she seemed suspicious as to Blaise's motives.

And Ron and Hermione? He had tried to reason with them, too.

"Harry shouldn't be in school right now. He should have some time apart, just to get out of the school. He needs an escape from all of the painful memories of Draco that live in every corner here."

"And where would he go?" Hermione had sighed, as if Blaise were wasting her time with his silly suggestions. Blaise immediately felt his respect for the Muggleborn take a nose dive off a cliff. "He shouldn't be alone right now, and his only  _friends_ any more are us and Ron's parents. Molly's the only one who isn't at Hogwarts and, while Harry loves her, I can't imagine him wanting to spend all of his time with her fussing over him. He would feel so swamped."

While Blaise understood her reasoning, he quickly squashed a stab of irritation. Harry didn't want to be cooed over by everyone – he just wanted a moment of peace. Not that Ron and Hermione, his supposed  _friends,_ wanted anything to do with Potter anymore. He sighed. He had taken Draco's last request to heart – he was going to take care of Potter, even if no one else did.  _Promise me that, when this is all over, you'll do anything you can –_

"I swear it, Draco," he whispered. "Anything I can -  _everything_  I can. I'll take care of him for you."

* * *

 

Harry stared at nothing, trying to swallow down the emotion that rose in his throat, flashing behind his closed eyes. He appreciated Blaise more than the other boy could ever know – a solid presence, almost always at his side. It was a comfort to know that Blaise knew what he was going through – that the Slytherin had felt the same. Sometimes he wished that they could just stay that way forever, both of them clinging to each other as their mutual grief rained in torents upon them.

Harry shifted slightly in his seat, clenching his hand into a tight fist. It was all because of him that Draco was gone. All because he had been such a complete  _idiot_ , killing Voldemort so late in the game. So many lives would have been saved if only – if only. And then Draco had left him. Harry grimaced against the pricking tears. Not in class; he couldn't break down in the middle of class.

Draco, why did you leave me? Weren't you happy with me? Wasn't I good enough for you? All my fault.

As if sensing Harry's discomfort, Blaise's large hand covered Harry's own, squeezing gently. Harry smiled tightly at the Slytherin, relaxing as the warm comfort passed from Blaise's body to Harry's through their joined hands. Bless Blaise for always being there, far more than Ron or Hermione ever were. He was always there, dependable and supportive, a shoulder to lean and cry upon.

Drawing strength from the knowledge that Blaise didn't blame him for Draco's death – when he, above all others, had the most reason to – Harry shoved his heart further back into his chest and tried to listen to a revoltingly smug Professor Williamson's lecture. What were they even studying? Oh, sod it all, he didn't  _care_. Harry stood, shoving his chair back with a loud scrape as he seized his filled book bag, never having bothered to unload it for the class. It was a daily routine – sit in class. Pretend to listen to lecture. Leave halfway through. Run to Astronomy Tower to cry. Go to next class. He was a robot, stuck in the same routine. Up and Down. Over and Over. Repeating. Repeating. Slowly – oh so slowly – losing his mind, losing his control, losing his iron grip upon his heart.

His grades were falling steadily, he knew. But he couldn't bring himself to care. He hadn't even originally planned on coming back to Hogwarts in September, all those achingly short months ago. Who was to stop him from simply dropping out now? Fading into the blackness, melting in with the faceless crowd of all those who had died during the war. Those who had never finished their schooling and would never be able to finish. How could anyone continue going to class, laughing and smiling, when the world had ended? How could they do  _anything_ when he was just so empty, when the world had lost all of its meaning?

And still, he couldn't quite crush the small, hopeful bubble that rose within him, praying that  _this_  time, maybe  _this_  time when he entered the Astronomy Tower, Draco would be waiting for him. Perhaps Draco would greet him with a big smile and words of love. Perhaps he would sneer and tell Harry that he was such a fool for believing him to be dead. It didn't matter, just that  _this_ time, he would be there waiting.

But every time he opened that door, no one was there. And Harry's heart would die just a little bit more each time.

Sure enough, when Harry opened the door to the Astronomy Tower, panting and clutching at the stitch in his side from the sprint to the Tower, there was no one there. With a small gasp of pain, he felt himself begin to crumble in upon himself, imploding softly in the suffocating openness of the empty room. He moaned, curling into a small, desperate ball. He didn't deserve to be happy ever again. He didn't  _want_  to be happy again. But he would give anything to be happy. He just needed to  _feel_ something. Anything. Anything other than this misery, this hazy cloud of despair and pain, following him wherever he went like a starving buzzard, just waiting for him to fall.

He just needed to do something to make him feel  _something_. Something other than the pain, or nothing at all.

So when Blaise entered the Astronomy Tower behind him, Harry acted without thinking.

* * *

 

Blaise entered the Astronomy Tower after Harry at a run. "Harry, are you –" he froze as Harry's lips met his own. He shivered lightly as Harry's teeth grazed his bottom lip. It felt wrong – so wrong. But – wasn't this what Draco had said?  _Promise me that, when this is all over, you'll do anything you can –_  everything  _you can – to make sure that Harry's alright_.

Tentatively, Blaise began to return the kiss. It had been so long since he had been kissed by anyone – Draco had been the last, and Blaise knew that he had been Harry's last, too. He could almost imagine that he could taste Draco against Harry's lips. But the feel was all wrong. Even now, he could easily remember the smooth glide of Draco's lips, the dance of his tongue. Harry was a good kisser, he acknowledged, but he didn't have Draco's finesse. He didn't have Draco's taste or the softness of Draco's lips. The feel was so…  _wrong_.

Harry seemed to jump to the same conclusion, for he instantly leapt back. "Oh, Merlin, I'm so – I'm so sorry, Blaise," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with shame and his eyes shiny and red with a fresh bout of tears. "I thought maybe – but you're  _not_  – you're not  _him_."

"No one is," Blaise smiled weakly.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry. So sorry." Harry's cheeks began to wet, tears retracing their familiar paths down paled cheeks. Blaise absently wondered if Potter's cheeks would stain from so much crying.

"Hey," he empathetically extended his arms to the Gryffindor, and Potter was immediately in them, his arms wrapped around Blaise's waist, sobbing into the Slytherin's shoulder. "I miss him, too," he murmured, pecking a gentle kiss to Harry's rebellious hair and holding him close. "I miss him, too."

* * *

 

Harry stood alone on the Astronomy Tower, his arms tightly wrapped around his chest to ward off the cold and the ever-present pain. Blaise had gone down to the Great Hall with the promise to bring back food for Harry. He always knew when Harry was likely to fall apart around people, for which Harry was so grateful. He didn't know what he would do without Blaise, and he thanked whatever deity was responsible for placing Blaise in his path when they did.

Harry stared forlornly into the night sky, regarding Draco's hopeful words, the pale, delicate arch of his neck expanding towards the night sky, stretching and flexing tantalizingly as he spoke.  _My father once said that when the night is darkest, it is then that the stars shine the brightest. You just have to learn how to see them._

"Where are you, Draco?" Harry whispered into the dark. "Where the hell are you? What's the point in seeing the stars if you aren't here to share them with me? Where's the good, the beauty, the _point_ in that? Where are  _you_?"

Harry shivered, tightening his arms around him in the bitter February air. "Where the hell are you, Draco? Why can't I find you?"

He searched behind the telescopes, disappointed when he found no bottles of Draco Juice. They had used them all up. Blaise had managed to wrestle the last of the bottles – and a few bottles of the altered Hangover Solution – from Draco's trunks before McGonagall and Slughorn came to take his things away. Harry had thrown a fit at that – how could they take his things? Draco wasn't _done_  with them yet! – and it was only the combined efforts of Blaise and one of Slughorn's calming potions that managed to quiet him enough for the teachers to remove Draco's belongings from the dorm.

But now the Draco Juice was all gone. Harry shivered again, a trembling that started at his shoulders and made its way all the way down. A month. A month free of the nightmares. But now the antidote to them was gone. Used up. Wasted. Gone, like Draco. Like man, like drink, and what the hell was he talking about anymore?

Harry rubbed his fist over his scar with a furious groan. He was so tired. So completely exhausted. But without the Draco Juice, the nightmares would be back. Was he ready for it, to see Draco's face again?  _Yesyesyes please_. But was he ready to see Draco's silvery eyes turn black with malice, his voice spitting hatred upon Harry? He wasn't sure. But he knew that he would give anything to see Draco again – in any form.

Not bothering to wait for Blaise to return with his dinner, Harry made his way back to the South Tower, his feet dragging heavily on the stairs. He was so tired, so, so _tired_. His head and eyes ached, as did his tight throat and every muscle in his body. He felt as if he had just completed the most strenuous workout of his life, leaving every bone, every muscle, every cell in his body saturated with fatigue.

The South Tower was empty when he arrived – every eighth year was down at dinner, although he expected that Blaise would come searching at any time. His body screaming its protests at him, Harry collapsed fully clothed onto his bed, half-heartedly toeing off his ratty trainers. A half-smile lit his lips for the first time in a month. Draco had always hated his trainers. More than once he had said that Harry should throw them out, that they stank worse than Goyle after Quidditch practice. The small smile was still on Harry's lips when he fell asleep.

_Draco walked towards him, dressed in all black as he had before, and Harry felt his heart stop. Merlin, how he had missed this. Draco's silver eyes were warm as he smiled at him. Had he just imagined the hostility in them before? Draco stepped towards Harry, just out of arm's reach._

_"Oh Merlin, I've missed you," Harry breathed, afraid that if he spoke too loudly, the beautiful man before him would disappear, shattering like all of Harry's dreams had before._

_"It's alright," Draco whispered, his musical voice flowing through Harry's veins like a heady drug. Ever so slowly, Draco stepped forwards, wrapping his arms around Harry and holding him close._

_Every nerve in Harry's body seemed to swell and hum at Draco's touch, his head growing light with the scent of lemons. How he had missed that smell so terribly. The feel of Draco around him was more intoxicating than the Draco Juice that he had been so disappointed to lose earlier. How stupid of him, to mourn the loss of the alcohol, when it had been keeping this from him, this which was so much better than everything else in the world._

_"Stay with me," Harry nestled his head into the crook of Draco's neck, tasting the skin there with a flick of his tongue. A shudder rippled through him, and he knew that he would regret this dream in the morning, when Draco was no longer there. But for now, he couldn't bring himself to care. Not now, when Draco was here, so alive and real. Nothing else mattered in the world._

_"Until the end," Draco said firmly, his voice lilting with affection as he kissed the top of Harry's head. Harry reached out a hand, and Draco took it._

* * *

 

Laden with a napkin full of chicken from the kitchens, Blaise made his way up to the Astronomy Tower.

But it was empty.

Feeling only the smallest pang of worry, Blaise made his way back down to the South Tower, figuring that Harry had probably gotten cold and retreated to somewhere warmer. The common room was empty. Blaise frowned. He had half expected Harry to be seated before the fire. But Harry was probably exhausted. It had been a long day for all. So Blaise entered the boys' dorm, noting with a fond smile that Harry lay in his bed, fast asleep.

Setting the chicken on the table beside his own bed, Blaise crossed the room to the sleeping Gryffindor.

"Harry?" he asked quietly. "I've brought you some food." There came no response.

Frowning, Blaise stepped closer. "Harry?"

He noted with interest the small, happy smile upon Harry's face, the relaxation in his features that hadn't been there for a month. Cautiously, Blaise gave Harry a gentle shake. There was no response. His brow creasing in concern, Blaise reached out with trembling fingers to squeeze Harry's wrist, his thumb pressing into the pulse point. 

He held his breath, waiting, but could feel no pulse other than his own.

Blaise sat back on his heels, rocking uncertainly for a moment, before a smile broke out on his face. Harry had found his star, the brightest of them all.


	35. Epilogue: Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

The chapel in Godric's Hollow was crowded that morning. It was supposed to have been a private affair, friends of the deceased only, but word had gotten out to the  _Prophet_ and everyone who could fit in the small chapel had come by to say their goodbyes to the Savior. Many more witches and wizards lined the streets.

Blaise lounged comfortably against a side wall with Pansy, surveying the assembled masses with a disapproving eye. Scattered throughout the crowd were those few near-and-dears who cared about Potter as a person. He had spotted Hermione, clinging tightly to Ron and sobbing into his shirt, Longbottom and the Weaselette (funny how Draco's old nickname seemed to cling), Finnegan, Thomas, Luna Lovegood, and most of the Hogwarts students and staff. The Weasley family had an entire pew to themselves, Blaise noted with amusement. Draco had always said that that family was too big for its boots.

Yet, vastly outnumbering the close friends of Harry was the unnamed public. Sure, Blaise had known that Harry was rather friendly with Minister Shacklebolt, but surely that didn't mean that the entire bloody ministry was free to come to his funeral. His fist clenched minutely as he spotted Dolores Umbridge, dabbing her eyes daintily with a large, pink handkerchief, presumably to hide her smile. Blaise knew what she had done to Potter – he had seen the scars with his own eyes.  _I must not tell lies_. In the very back of the room, her poison-green Quick-Quotes quill scratching furiously, was Rita Skeeter, dressed outlandishly in a sheath-like turquoise dress that showed entirely too much cleavage for what could be considered appropriate at a funeral. Meeting his eye, Rita winked lavishly and Blaise offered her a polite smile. He was no fool; he knew what happened to those who angered Skeeter.

Shifting his gaze around the rest of the room, his eyes fell upon someone staring back at him. The boy's lips were curved up in a gentle smile. He had light, milk chocolate hair that shimmered in the sunlight and deep blue eyes, the color of the ocean on a sunny day. He was gorgeous and striking in his prim, tailored suit; tall, regal and magnificent in a way that made Blaise's heart ache comfortably in remembrance of Draco.

Blaise quirked an interested eyebrow. It was wrong to pick up a date at your friend's funeral, he knew. But… perhaps he could find him after. After all, it wouldn't be hard to find Michael Corner at Hogwarts. The boy had grown up well; Blaise couldn't believe that, after living in the same dorm room with him all year, he had failed to notice before.

Blaise's attention shifted back to the front of the chapel as the preacher rose to speak. He told all about Harry's wonderful deeds and kind heart, his generosity and loyalty, his bravery and the depths of his love. Blaise rolled his eyes – _please_ , as if the preacher had known Harry at all – wrapping his cloak tightly around himself. Patting Pansy's shoulder comfortingly as he passed, he walked out of the church and into the hazy swirl of the lazily falling snow. Trudging to the apparition point, Blaise scowled. They were all insane, thinking that they had to mourn for the Savior. Harry had got what he'd always wanted – he was away from the prying eyes of the public, freed from his nightmares. He was with Draco. Why mourn someone who had finally achieved all that he'd ever wanted in life – peace and love?

Apparating to Hogsmeade, Blaise looked up at the sky. It wasn't snowing in the town, and the sky was clear, giving way to glowing stars, bright pinpricks of light in the darkness. Slowly, he smiled.

"Look after him, Draco. He's your problem now."

Wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, Blaise walked to the school and up to the South Tower. A comfortable fire roared merrily in the grate. Pulling a bottle of Ogden's Finest towards himself and pouring a glass, he absently stroked Phil's back. The owl peered at him with unblinking silver eyes, ruffling his feathers and clicking his beak in an affronted manner.

"Cheers, Draco," Blaise murmured, toasting the empty air and swallowing down the firewhiskey before he slammed the glass upside down upon the coffee table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Do not stand at my grave and weep,_  
>  _I am not there; I do not sleep._  
>  _I am a thousand winds that blow,_  
>  _I am the diamond glints on snow,_  
>  _I am the sun on ripened grain,_  
>  _I am the gentle autumn rain._  
>  _When you awaken in the morning’s hush_  
>  _I am the swift uplifting rush_  
>  _Of quiet birds in circling flight._  
>  _I am the soft starlight at night._  
>  _Do not stand at my grave and cry,_  
>  _I am not there; I did not die."_  
>  ~ Mary Elizabeth Frye


End file.
